


That Special Someone

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Nights in Sandbridge [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Underage Sex, Second Chances, Sex, Soccer, Sting Operation, Unreliable Narrator, prison buddies, soccer mom!Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-14 11:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Bucky is a business owner, a member of the community, a husband, and now even a parent of sorts to his orphaned niece. He’s come a long, long way from the angry, rebellious young man who spent sixty days in prison, and he’s put those days behind him for good.Or so he thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The "Choose Not to Warn" warning has to do with some things that happened in Bucky's past that are going to be shown through flashback. Please feel free to contact the authors if you'd like that clarified before reading further!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/trigger warning on this chapter for mention/implication of past underage sex and discussion of an abusive relationship (Bucky/Pierce).

Tony rolled over again, for the third time in as many minutes. Despite the busy evening they’d had, his brain refused to just _shut up_. He stifled a groan and sat up. Bucky was asleep beside him, curled toward him like a plant seeking sun. Bucky’s face always looked younger when he was asleep, smooth and carefree.

God knew Bucky needed the sleep; the last few weeks had been draining on them both, but especially on Bucky. Tony shoved his hand through his hair and slipped as quietly as he could out of the bed, padding across the thick carpet to look out the wide picture window at the ocean, and the sparkle of moonlight across the waves.

Tony could just _ask_ , but what were the chances Bucky would answer? Or be upset? Or just so embarrassed that he’d run for the hills? Maybe it was better if Tony just kept that bit of curiosity locked away.

And, y’know. Never sleep again.

Speaking of never sleeping again, the man himself stepped on that creaky floorboard just before putting a hand down on Tony’s shoulder. “Moon’s pretty tonight,” Bucky commented, although he wasn’t actually looking out the window. He kissed Tony’s neck and rested his chin on Tony’s shoulder, a warm presence at Tony’s back.

“Hey, babe,” Tony said, tipping his head to lean into Bucky’s. “Didn’t mean to wake you up. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, the whole staring out the window at two in the morning gave it away,” Bucky said. He rubbed Tony’s neck, fingers inching into his hair and scritching over his scalp. “Something wrong, or just general restless?”

Tony hummed happily at the touch, even knowing it meant Bucky was going to accuse him of being a cat again. “Nothing wrong,” he said, because it wasn’t _wrong_ , it was just... “Stuck on a thought that won’t go away.”

“Hedonist,” Bucky said, not stopping what he was doing at all, and Tony was going to melt into a contented little puddle if he kept it up. “Like when you get _Call Me, Maybe_ stuck in your head and you have to listen to it to make it go away? You can listen to Carly Rae Jepsen if you need to, baby, I won’t judge. Much.”

Tony elbowed Bucky, but not very hard, because he didn’t want the neckrub/scritching to stop. “I have no idea what you mean,” he said loftily, utterly ignoring the fact that they’d both gotten the damn song stuck in their heads a couple of weeks ago (stupid store playlists) and complained about it for days. “Not a song,” he added. “But that same kind of pointlessly turning the same verse and a half over and over and over again, yeah.”

“Come back to bed,” Bucky offered, still carding his fingers through Tony’s hair, leaning closer and breathing near Tony’s ear, soft air puffing against his neck. “I’ll give you a back rub and you can tell me about it?”

Not being sure if he should tell Bucky about his thoughts was the whole reason he couldn’t sleep, damn it. But a backrub sounded good... “Yeah, I’m convinced,” he said, grinning at the warm huff of Bucky’s quiet laugh. He let Bucky tug him back toward the big bed, and flopped down in the middle of it, stretching out to take up even more space. (Maybe he should just embrace the whole cat thing. He and Muffin could start a club.)

He waited until Bucky had dug out some oil and straddled his thighs to start smoothing it into Tony’s skin before he screwed up his courage and said, “This is going to sound kind of fucked up; promise you won’t freak out?”

Bucky pushed his thumb up against Tony’s shoulder blade, knowing those sore spots intimately. “Well,” he said, slow, “I don’t know that there’s a lot you can say that’ll make me instantly freak out, baby, but leading with that’s… a little worrisome. And, you know, backs you right into the corner of ‘well, _now_ you _have_ to tell me’.”

“Uh _ohhhh_ , that’s nice,” Tony sighed. “It’s just I was... Oh, I don’t even know how to say it, now.” He huffed into the blanket under his cheek. “You said -- well, implied, I guess, would be the more accurate, um. Implied. That you...” _Don’t mention the shitbag._ “...were into breathplay, sort of? And I was wondering if that was a _you_ thing, or, y’know. A _him_ thing.” _So close, but no points._

Bucky’s hands froze for an instant, not long, just _long enough_. Long enough that when he went back to working the knots out of Tony’s muscles, it was harder to relax. Well, except when Bucky did _that_ ; working the heel of his hand into Tony’s hips, which seemed to open up his chest in a way Tony couldn’t really explain, but oooh, god, it was hard not to arch up into it. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed Tony’s expectations, that Bucky had drawn his lower lip into his mouth and was mangling it with his teeth.

“No freaking out,” Tony reminded him. “I’m not judging, either way, I just. I _thought_ it, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You don’t have to answer.” Tony probably shouldn’t have given Bucky that out -- sometimes Bucky needed to be prodded out of his comfort zone, and it was usually a good thing. Too late to take it back, though. And this wasn’t quite the same sort of situation as, say, talking about something fun and mildly kinky like spanking, because this was all tied up with fucking Pierce and that god damned all-too-recent attempt to “seduce” (rape) Bucky, and...

Shit, Tony really needed to get his thoughts under control because thinking about that was going to get _him_ all tense and that wasn’t going to be any good for Bucky at all.

“I…” Bucky started, then stopped again. He found a particularly tense knot in the middle of Tony’s back and absently started working it out, hands smoothing out the muscles, fingers warm and confident. “I… um. I don’t know. I mean… it was. It started as an Alex thing.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “That... sounds like maybe it has a ‘but’ attached somewhere.”

“I was seventeen when I got involved with Alex,” Bucky said, hedging, tentative. His hands continued to move along Tony’s spine, down to his lower back, then across Tony’s ass, which felt exceptionally good and a little arousing at the same time, before working his way back up Tony’s sides. “I’d had exactly one sexual partner before that, an’ you know, only twice.” Very uncertain, like he was asking for Tony’s understanding, or forgiveness.

Which was slightly ridiculous, of course; Tony had met Ty when he was seventeen, and spent the eighteen months or so before that being something of the campus bike. He was the last one to be able to judge _anyone_ ’s sexual history. “Yeah,” he said, because he knew Bucky’s history already. “Hadn’t exactly had time to play around and try stuff,” he guessed.

Bucky made a soft noise and stroked down Tony’s arms. “You have the best biceps, you know that, doll?” He squeezed, lightly, at the muscle, before drawing back up to Tony’s shoulders. “I dunno. The first time Alex… it scared me. An’ then… you ever smoke weed and have sex?”

“Sure,” Tony said, because there wasn’t a lot that he hadn’t at least dabbled in, that year. “Couldn’t get it up, actually, so I didn’t do that again. But it was the most fun I’d ever had going down on someone, I have to say. Not counting you, of course.”

“It’s dreamy,” Bucky said. “A little like that. An’ a little like having a sex dream an’ waking up to find someone’s blowing you. Really, really fuckin’ intense. You can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. Kinda… saps your will away. Like, everything feels so good, it doesn’t even _matter_ that you can’t breathe.”

Tony couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of _Pierce_ doing that to Bucky, the soulless cretin, but the way Bucky described it... did not sound like something he remembered with fear or distaste. And Tony did know about that hazy, intense mental state of waking up to a blowjob, and roundly enjoyed it.

He took a breath and let it out slowly, trying to shut Pierce out of the equation. “So... Is that something we should put on the list? Or do you think it would remind you of him?”

Bucky barked out an entirely unexpected laugh. His whole body shook and tremors ran down his legs. “God,” he finally managed to say. “No, Tony, no. It wouldn’t. Just the fact that you _asked_ about it makes it not like Alex. I know I don’t… I don’t talk about Alex much, so you wouldn’t know. I was so stupidly blind about that man. He didn’t… Everything was always about _him_. I don’t even think he cared that I liked it, he was just… asserting his authority over me.”

“What a fucknut,” Tony grumbled. It drove him crazy, sometimes, how much he loathed Pierce and Pierce’s cavalier treatment of Bucky -- and even crazier knowing that if Pierce had been _one iota_ better to Bucky, then Bucky would never have fallen in love with Tony. “Making you feel good is the best feeling I’ve got.”

Bucky ran a few long, soft strokes down Tony’s back and then climbed off his hips to sit on the bed in one of the tiny spots Tony wasn’t currently occupying. “I… um. Is it something on your list? I mean… Stevie would be so fuckin’ pissed with me.” He wasn’t quite looking at Tony. “Kinda went off on me a few times about it.”

Tony didn’t really care what Steve thought about their sex life, but he suspected that if he asked, Steve’s reservations would have less to do with the activity itself and more with the fact that Bucky was doing it with _Pierce_. He sighed and tried to convince his now very relaxed muscles that they wanted to move. They argued with him about it for a while, but eventually, grudgingly, gave in enough to let him flop over onto his back so he could look at Bucky. “It’s not _especially_ on my list,” he said carefully. “If it hadn’t... come up, I’d probably never have even thought about it. But it’s not _not_ on my list, either. If it was something you wanted to try -- with me -- I could do some research and give it a go.”

That got him a sharp look, eyes wide with surprise and gleaming in the darkness. “You… you don’t think it’s… well, _sick_?”

“It’s a little off the beaten path, I grant, and I’d want to be extra careful not to hurt you. But it’s not sick.” Tony reached out for Bucky’s hand, twining their fingers together. “ _Sick_ is seducing a kid half your age because you can’t get it up without playing some kind of power game. Pierce is sick, in so many ways. This? Is just a little kinky.”

Bucky ducked his head again, not quite looking at Tony. “More’n a little,” he said. “It is possible -- not real likely, mind, if you’re careful, but… you can kill someone that way. Theoretically. ‘Course, they say pot’s a gateway to other drugs and I never felt th’ urge to do anything more than smoke a bowl once in a blue moon. Not anymore. I needed to get away from… well, from that crowd.”

“Technically, theoretically, we could slip while fucking in the shower and die, too,” Tony pointed out. “I’m all for researching the safest ways to go about it. You know me, any excuse to google porn when I’m on break at work.” He grinned up at Bucky.

Bucky chuckled. “Pervert,” he accused Tony, fondly. “One… well, one of my other partners used to call it a shortcut to subspace. If… if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, I wouldn’t mind gettin’ back there, someday.”

“I’ll set myself a homework assignment,” Tony agreed. He slid his fingers up Bucky’s arm, enjoying the feel of warm skin over muscle, and over the curve of Bucky’s shoulder, and then, eyes fixed on Bucky’s face, up the side of Bucky’s neck, just firm enough to feel the pulse pounding under the surface.

Bucky inhaled sharply, mouth dropping open just a little. Under his fingers, Tony felt Bucky’s pulse spike and he tilted his head back, giving in to the pressure. “Oh my god.” His voice was strained, breathless, and then he was leaning down, kissing Tony fiercely, his hand gripping Tony’s wrist to hold it right where it was.

God, Bucky was practically _devouring_ him, and this wasn’t even real pressure, just a tease... Oh, yes, they were _definitely_ going to be exploring this. Tony kept his hand on Bucky’s neck and slid the other into Bucky’s hair, pulling lightly as he nipped at Bucky’s lips, licked at the corner of them. Bucky was always responsive, but this was something else. Tony laughed a little, delighted, and dove in for another kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://ohgreatblackbunny.tumblr.com/post/166145947767/) is kinda the face we’re picturing Bucky making at this particular moment. Enjoy. You’re welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is the chapter where our Unreliable Narrator tag comes in, and also a big chunk of the reason this fic is rated Choose Not to Warn, for some potential/perceived dubcon. If you need to know in advance, check the end notes, and please feel free to ask the authors for clarifications!

Bucky scowled at the security box near the back door. He knew that it was new and not everyone was used to it yet, but someone had forgotten to set it last night. The green light was steady and unwavering when he punched in his entry code. It was part of Tony’s gradual upgrade plan, and since it linked in with the cameras, which had been very useful, Bucky wasn’t complaining.

Admittedly, he’d spent most of the first year he owned the Dockside forgetting to lock the damn door, because the sandbar was pretty small and he knew almost everyone who lived there. There’d been a few incidents in Virginia Beach of theft and vandalism, though, so it was probably time to admit that the world had moved on from the days when you could just leave the doors unlocked and trust that no one would take anything.

Bucky did a quick visual inspection of the kitchen; especially in the summer, the cleanup often got a little skimpy. Last night had apparently been one of those times. Drawers were still open? Really? Had Steve left early last night? Steve had a cow when people left cabinets open, because it was a serious safety hazard. Bucky walked around, shoving things closed. There were crumbs on the prep counter.

Aaand none of the silver had been wrapped, either. _Jesus Christ_. He was going to have to have words with the closing staff. He grabbed the bucket of clean forks, knives and spoons, heading for his office to look at yesterday’s schedule and figure out who to yell at.

He was most of the way to his office door before he realized what he was seeing.

Bucky took a cautious step backward.

_Yep_ , there was someone sitting in the middle of his goddamn restaurant, eating a sandwich and some of the baked chips they kept on hand.

_Fuck_.

Bucky had never actually had a robbery. He wasn’t prepared to deal with an intruder.

He took another step toward his office; once inside, he could bolt the door and call Tony.

A scrape of chair against the floor and the man stood up. He was a shadow in the dim light filtering in from outside, the main overheads hadn’t been turned on yet.

“Hey, hey, hey man, what’s up, Celly?”

The silverware bucket crashed to the floor.

“Scott?” Bucky’s voice was completely gone, barely a croak. He took a few steps into the dining room, heedless of the piles of flatware all over the floor. “Scott Lang?”

“Yeah, man, yeah, it’s me, man,” Scott said. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “It’s good to see you, my man, my main man, so good. This place, wow, look at what you’ve done for yourself, I mean, really. I am impressed. And, yeah, I keep talking, so I’ll, just… you know.”

Someone shoved a key in the main door, turning the knob. Probably Steve, he was usually first in.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Bucky hissed.

“Look, look, man, my cousin, he’s got a job and I need--”

“No,” Bucky said. He was shaking. Or the world was. Bucky wasn’t quite certain.

“It’s a sweet take, man,” Scott said. “I got everything I need for it, driver, computer guy--”

“No.”

The door opened and Steve came in, flipping the bank of lights up with one hand. “Morning, Buck,” Steve said, then stopped, staring. “What the… Who is this?”

“I just need a little backup--” Scott didn’t even look at Steve, kept those sky blue eyes on Bucky’s face, his eyebrow game as good as ever. Scott had a way of talking people into the stupidest shit, and the worst thing about it was always that you _knew_ it was a bad fucking plan, and Scott made it seem so damn reasonable you ended up neck deep before you knew what you were doing.

“No, no way, Scott, no,” Bucky said.

“Scott?” Steve’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Scott _Lang_?”

“Oh, hey,” Scott said, turning finally to look at Steve. He beamed, all jovial welcome and enthusiasm. Held out a hand to Steve, who took it on autopilot. “Wow, you are a big guy, really, really big. And… wow. Yeah, Scott, Scott Lang, nice to meet you. Oh, you must be Steve, yeah, I heard about you, you’re… wow, I’m shaking your hand too long. Wow, this is awesome.”

And then suddenly Scott was wincing as Steve’s crushing grip registered. “Lang? You son of a bitch!”

“Woah, woah, man, woah, what… No, no, I didn’t… hey!” Scott wrenched his hand free and backed up several steps. “There is no… no, there is NO call for violence, no. Oh, come on!”

Steve stalked across the room at Scott who was backing up hastily. He tried to take refuge behind Bucky, but Bucky was still in some state of shock. Not, really, that he was sure he didn’t want Steve to punch Scott in the face. That might be good. A bit.

Scott might not have been strong, but he was quick as all fuck. He dodged around Bucky a few times, then got a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and fucking leap-frog jumped over him, pushing back into the main dining room and away from Steve. “Seriously, no, come on, come on, Bucky, I was just kidding, we were friends, tell him, would you… please _fucking tell him_?” Scott’s voice was growing in volume and panic as Steve went after him.

Steve didn’t get mad very often, but when he did, he was fucking scary. Bucky couldn’t really blame Scott for running, though a small, calm voice in the back of his mind was pointing out that Scott’s path across the tops of the tables was knocking napkins and condiment bottles everywhere, making a huge mess. “Get out of our place!” Steve bellowed. “Buck, call the cops, I’ll get him pinned down.”

“No, no, come on man, no cops, no fucking cops,” Scott yelled. He made an impressive leap from one table to another and hit the kitchen door running, the batwings swinging crazily. Steve was only a few steps behind him.

Bucky looked down at the piles of silverware on the floor. At his wrecked dining room, tables knocked all over the place. Ketchup bottles broken and napkins scattered everywhere. He heaved a great sigh. It was tempting to just start cleaning up and pretend that he didn’t know that Steve was going to kill Scott.

Then he heard Tony’s voice from just outside the kitchen door.

_Shit._

***

Tony shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth to keep himself from pointing out the structural flaw in Billie’s Lego house. It hadn’t taken them very long to learn that she Did Not Appreciate any sort of concrit, or even much in the way of praise while a building was under construction, though she expected lavish compliments when it was done, of course.

Knowing that his advice would be neither appreciated nor heeded did not stop Tony from wanting to _give_ it. He ate another bite of cereal, and moved the bowl away from Muffin’s curious nose. Again.

He eyed Billie’s house as he chewed. It was definitely going to collapse when she tried to put the roof on. Maybe, if he found just the right way to phrase it...

A loud thump and the echo of a raised voice sounded from downstairs. Which was weird, because the soundproofing between the restaurant level and the residence above it was top-notch. Which meant something was _definitely_ wrong.

More raised voices, and that was Steve. It was easy to annoy Steve, but hard to get him mad to the point of yelling. Whatever it was, Tony had better go investigate; they didn’t need any more trouble this year. “Stay here,” Tony told Billie. “Don’t open the door. Bucky or I’ll be back before lunch, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Billie said, digging through her Lego bucket in search of a piece.

Tony rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to impinge any further. Muffin was already sneaking up on his cereal bowl by the time he’d stuffed his feet into his sneakers and dashed outside.

The noises were even louder out here, and Tony ran down the stairs and around the railing toward the kitchen door. A million different scenarios spooled behind his eyes -- semi-local vandals, Pierce, fucking _Ty_...

He hadn’t expected a skinny, average-looking guy to burst through the back door in full flight and try to hide behind him, with Steve in pursuit. “What the hell--”

“I just wanna talk, man, come on,” the man said. He had a soft, almost pretty voice and it took on a wheedling tone. “Can we just… take a step back and talk?” He managed to loop a hand around Tony’s waist and pulled him around in a dizzying circle, trying to keep Tony between him and Steve’s fist. “Come on, please, I’m… Jesus, he’s huge, where the fuck was Bucky hiding him? Hey, hey, come on, guy, guy, I don’t know your name, I’m so sorry about this, but really, I’ve been hit enough times this week, okay, can you just… I don’t know, help me out here for five goddamn seconds? Bucky, man…”

Bucky came out of the kitchen behind Steve and was just staring, mouth open like he’d forgotten how to close it.

Steve was not calming down, not even a _little_ , and based on the roundhouse swinging of his arm, someone was going to get hurt any second now.

“Okay, everyone just _stop_!” Tony barked. He reached back and twisted his hand into the stranger’s shirt and pulled it tight so the guy couldn’t get away, then sidestepped out of the guy’s hold. “Steve, will you please, just for like, thirty seconds, hold off on killing this guy until someone tells me what the fuck is going on?”

Steve stopped, panting for breath. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

“Oh, god, thank you, thank you,” the man said, clinging to Tony with both hands now. “You’re an angel, a blessing, I’m really, really grateful, man, because I don’t know. I didn’t even…”

“You. You bypassed my security system,” Bucky said. “And picked the lock. Didn’t you?”

“Well, okay, yes, I did do that, technically, but Bucky, man, it’s a shitty security system. I mean, really, really, I hope you’re not paying a lot for it, because all it does is give you someone to blame when it gets bypassed. I just… didn’t want to wait on the porch, man.”

“And you wrecked my kitchen!”

“I did not _wreck_ your kitchen, I was just… look, I haven’t had a decent meal in three days, man. I was hungry,” he said, giving Bucky a pair of huge puppy eyes, mouth quivering. “Come on. Would you have said no, if I’d asked you? Tell me, after everything, you wouldn’t give me a meal? At least? Just a meal, man.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you fucking destroyed the dining room, Jesus Christ, Scott.”

“Woah, woah, that was not my fault. That was your attack dog here. You know me, man, if someone’s chasin’ me, I’m gonna run.”

“ _Scott…_ ” Bucky heaved a sigh.

“Oh my god, _shut up_ ,” Tony told Scott. “It is not your turn right now.” Tony had been reading too many goddamn parenting books, and that was proof, right there. Fuck it, if it worked, he’d use it. He pointed at Steve. “Do not beat up the B&E freeloader. We’ll call the cops.”

“No --” Bucky and Scott spoke in unison there.

“No, no, no, man, no cops, please do not do that, I will…”

“Scott, I am going to kill you,” Bucky said. “No cops. But killing you is not off the menu.”

Tony threw up his free hand in exasperation. “Okay, fine, no cops. Who would like to tell me _what the fuck is going on_?”

Bucky glanced at Scott, who gave Bucky a very apologetic aren’t-I-cute face. “You know how they say when you go to prison, you need to win a fight, or become someone’s bitch?”

Steve was looking even angrier. Tony hadn’t actually known that was _possible_. “Yes...?” he said carefully.

“Meet Scott Lang,” Bucky said, gesturing. “My someone.”

It took a few seconds for the implications of that to hit Tony’s brain, and then he felt dizzy, breathless as if someone had punched him in the stomach. “Oh,” he managed, and it sounded weak. The pictures queuing up in his brain were not particularly helping him maintain his calm. “Okay,” he said. “Steve? Carry on.”

Scott got out a very petrified sounding squeaked, “not in the face,” before Steve decked him. Scott went down, spitting and cursing. He stayed down, too, which was probably smart, his lip bleeding.

Bucky sighed again, rubbing at his temples. “Steve, enough.”

“Buck, he--”

“I know, Stevie,” Bucky said. “I know.” He took a few deep breaths, and then walked over to Scott and nudged him with the toe of his sneaker. “What the hell, Scott. What do you really want?”

“A job, man--”

“No,” Bucky said. “I told you before, I’m telling you now, I _do not do_ that sort of thing.”

Scott managed to look both pathetic and somewhat charming from his position on the ground. “Not for you, man,” he said. “I was joking about that, really. I need a job _for me_. Look, man, it’s my daughter, okay? Cassie. I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’ to go straight, I really am. You gotta know how hard it is for ex-cons to get jobs. I’m freakin’ _years_ behind in my child support. I need a job or Maggie’s not gonna let me see my daughter, man. You _owe me_ , Bucky. Please.”

What the fuck. Tony looked at Steve, who was still scowling, and then at Bucky, who... looked disturbingly sympathetic. “Bucky?”

“God, Scott, you _fucking idiot_ ,” Bucky said. He reached a hand down for Scott and helped him to his feet. “There are really better ways to apply for a job than breaking into my place.”

“Buck, no,” Steve said. “You are not… tell me you are not considering this.”

“Is this some kind of Stockholm Syndrome thing?” Tony added. It was not very often that Steve and Tony were on one side of an opinion that Bucky was on the other side of.

“Celly?” Scott said, soft. He didn’t look at Tony or Steve, just at Bucky.

“Yeah, Scottie, I’m here,” Bucky said. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m gonna take care of you. You’ve already met Steve--”

“And Steve’s fist,” Scott said, lightly adjusting his jaw.

“And this is Tony,” Bucky said, gesturing. “My husband. Come on, let’s get you some ice on that, and I’ll make you a burger, and we can talk about this, okay?” He put his arm around Scott’s back and led him back into the kitchen, leaving Steve and Tony outside blinking at each other.

“What... the fuck. Just happened?” Tony said.

“Oh, this is bad,” Steve said. “This is bad, Tony, oh, my god, this is _bad_.”

“I’m absolutely getting that,” Tony agreed. “Can you maybe fill me in a little? You know, from a non-Stockholm brainwashed sort of perspective, before Bucky comes back out and does that thing where he makes something really insane sound perfectly reasonable?”

Steve sat down on the back steps with a groan, hiding his face in his huge hands. “I don’t know a lot,” Steve admitted. “You know how Buck is when he’s in pain. He just locks it down and stares at you like you’re being unreasonable for _caring_.”

Tony nodded. He didn’t see that side of Bucky often -- they tried to be honest with each other, as much as possible, because they’d almost washed up on the rock of failed relationships a few times over bad communication issues -- but when Bucky went into lockdown, it meant things were _really_ bad.

“What I do know is that he spent sixty days in Azzano, which is one of those prisons-for-profit bullshit numbers, up in Yorktown. Minimum security, mostly for little piddly shit. Small time drug dealers and wife beaters and thieves. And Buck, who never should have been there at all. First time I visited, he’d been roughed up. _Bad_. Buck… well, he’s pretty. And gay. Prison’s no place he _ever_ should have been. I didn’t get details. He tried to make me leave, said I shouldn’t visit him at all, but Tony, I couldn’t leave him alone in there. I just… he didn’t tell me. What he did tell me was that it had been three against one, and that Lang… protected him. For sex. _After_.”

Tony grimaced and scrubbed his hand over his face. From what little he’d seen, he had a hard time imagining Lang being able to protect _anyone_ , but what did he know? And he’d known Bucky had been in prison, and didn’t like to talk about it, but he hadn’t let himself think about... this. “Fuck,” he sighed. “We’re not going to be able to talk him out of this one. Not if he’s somehow worked it around in his head like this guy Lang is... family.” Because that’s what it had sounded like to Tony, that tone in Bucky’s voice. That was how Bucky talked to Clint and Steve and Sam when they had a problem.

Steve was glaring darkly at the door. “Lang is a thief, and he’s a fucking rapist. Consent under duress doesn’t count. Buck told me, _he told me_ … not to ask questions if I wasn’t emotionally prepared for the answers. And. Tony, I never was. I tried to be there for him, but I didn’t push, I didn’t, and I should have.”

Tony put a hand on Steve’s arm. “What could you have done?” he asked. “He was in there, and you were out here, and... Pushing wouldn’t have helped either of you, not then.” He was for damn sure going to have to push his husband _now_ , though, or this whole situation was going to get out of hand and blow up in their faces.

“Come on, someone needs to remind him that you two have a daughter that you need to think about and having a thief and an ex-con downstairs… no, and he better fucking not put Scott in the apartment or I _will_ kill him.” Steve got up and stalked toward the door. It wasn’t entirely clear who he was planning on killing: Scott, or Bucky.

Oh, this was going to go _great_. Tony briefly considered just going back upstairs to irritate Billie with Lego suggestions and let the rest of them fight it out. But that wasn’t really an option, and he knew it. He sighed, scrubbed at his face, and followed Steve inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning Synopsis: This chapter introduces Scott Lang, who was Bucky's cellmate in prison, and with whom Bucky had an arrangement that included trading sex for protection from the inmates who wanted to hurt Bucky. Steve is of the opinion that this constitutes rape, whereas Bucky feels like it was a consensual, mutually beneficial arrangement. (Thus: unreliable narrator, and also dubcon.) Your own opinion may vary.
> 
> This arrangement is discussed in this chapter and the next, and has some ramifications for the rest of the story. No dubcon occurs onscreen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Discussion of past dub-con, not in great detail.

Scott hadn’t been kidding about having been beaten up. While Bucky got an ice pack for his mouth and took him into the office to sit down, Scott was moving slow and painfully, now that the adrenalin had bled out some. “Show me,” Bucky said.

Scott sighed and stripped out of his button-down, showing off a patina of fading bruises. He had a rash of scabs along his side, as if someone had dragged him over pavement. New scars on his back.

There was a time when Bucky had been very familiar with Scott’s back. The feel of his mouth and the sounds of his breathing.

Bucky had never loved Scott, but he’d been grateful for Scott’s protection, for the way Scott had cared about Bucky, when everything else had been so terrifying. Stockholm Syndrome, Tony was saying. Bullshit. Scott was more than a friend, more than a lover. He’d passed into some other realm, undefined. He was Bucky’s _special someone_. That was all that had ever mattered.

“What happened?”

“Maggie’s new boyfriend,” Scott said, shrugging. “It was stupid, but after the third time she turned me away at the door, I… erm. Kinda broke into Cassie’s bedroom after story time and read another story to her, that was all. But Paxton didn’t take too kindly to it, and there were stairs involved. You know how that goes, right? Look, I’m sorry about breaking in, Celly. But I don’t really have anywhere to go right now and I didn’t want to wake you, and if I’d slept on the porch, someone’d call the cops and have me moved on.”

“When did you get out?”

“This time? Six months ago,” Scott said. He pressed the ice pack against his lip, hissed. “My time at th’ halfway house is up and I can’t get work in my field; no suit’s gonna hire someone with a record.”

“Well, no, when you steal from _corporations_ , Scott, they don’t think you should get a second chance on that, really,” Bucky pointed out. “Put your shirt back on before my husband sees you all half-naked in my office.”

“Jealous type?” Scott batted his lashes at Bucky. But he struggled into his shirt, even if he did the buttons up lopsided.

“You are not as cute as you think you are,” Bucky said.

“And you’re as beautiful as you always were,” Scott said. “Man, you… you look so goddamn good, Celly.”

“Can you… maybe not flirt so much, please?”

“Sorry.” Scott made a waving motion with his hand. “Look, I had a job, for a while, serving ice cream over at Baskin Robbins. _Me_. Can you imagine it? They fired me when they found out about my record. Company policy.”

Bucky’s eyebrows went up. “I bet you looked like a dork in that pink shirt,” Bucky said. “Besides, there’s nothin’ glamorous or _in your field_ here. You want a job at Dockside, you better believe I’m gonna put your ass to work. Sweeping the floor and busing tables. That’s where everyone starts.”

Scott stared at his hands. He’d always had beautiful hands, the hands of a thief. Long-fingered and quick. He could do amazing sleight of hand tricks, a skill that had served him very well in Azzano. “I can do those things,” he said. “I just… I need a break, Bucky, or I’m going right back to jail. Again. I want to go straight. I want to. Cassie looks at me like I’m a hero, man, and I just want to… I wanna be _worthy_ of that, man.”

“No second chances, Scott,” Bucky said. “You touch a customer’s wallet and you’re gone. You touch the till and you’re gone. You sleep on the job and you’re gone. And… _you_ have to talk my husband into it. He’s a full partner and he gets a say in the hiring.”

“You really got married? That’s so awesome, man. I knew you were too good for Azzano,” Scott said. “Too good for this world, too pure, too innocent. You goddamn cinnamon roll.”

“Stop that.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You can start by cleaning up the fuckin’ mess you made before the lunch crowd gets here; silverware all needs to be picked up, washed again, dried and wrapped. Put the tables back, clean up all the spills. Mop the floor.”

“Thank you, man,” Scott said, and suddenly Bucky had an armful of Scott Lang, practically sobbing on his shoulder. “Thank you, thank you, this is… yeah, I’ll do good, I promise. You won’t regret this.”

Bucky patted him on the back a few times, looked over Scott’s shoulder and saw Steve and Tony staring at them from the kitchen. “I already do, Scott, I already do.”

Tony patted Steve’s arm and visibly braced himself before he came in. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, that light, devil-may-care tone he used when someone was in particularly deep shit.

“Go,” Bucky said to Scott. “Put my dining room back the way you found it.”

Scott pulled away and nodded. “Yep, you got it, boss, yes sir,” he said. He squeaked when he saw Steve and practically bolted into the dining room, leaving the batwing doors swinging on their hinges. Bucky heaved a huge sigh that seemed to pull all the oxygen from the room. Yeah, the way they were both looking at him, Bucky was in so, so much trouble.

“Steve, could you...” There was no good way to ask Steve to give Scott a hand, that wasn’t going to happen, it was not. But if he phrased it carefully... “...keep an eye on him while he straightens up?”

“You gave him a job.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t a question.

“ _Conditionally_ ,” Bucky tempered.

“I think what Bucky means to say,” Tony said, not taking his eyes off Bucky, “is that you should go and keep an eye on his friend _the thief_ while he and I discuss things. You can have your turn at him when I’m done.”

_Ug_. He’d really pissed Tony off this time. Bucky wanted to climb under his desk and hide.

Steve scowled. Bucky tightened his jaw, bracing for it. If Steve was going to hit him, now was the time. But he didn’t, he just stomped off into the dining room and started barking orders at Scott.

The worst thing was, he had no idea how to justify _any_ of this to Tony, and really… he shouldn’t have to. Why the fuck would Scott Lang come to him, after all these years? It was ridiculous, really. Couldn’t life just run smooth for a while? Was that not even possible?

“All right,” Bucky said, as neutrally as possible. “Go on then.”

“First question,” Tony said, his voice surprisingly soft and even. “Is he holding something over you that I should know about?” He folded his arms and leaned in the office door.

“Not the way you mean,” Bucky said. “He doesn’t have blackmail material or anything. Everything that I did, that’s all… out there. Drug muling, making fake IDs, stealing cars. Committing assault. I did all those things, Tony.” Bucky was trying to make up for the stupid shit he’d done, but he was a criminal; that he’d gone to jail for something he hadn’t done, well, that didn’t change the shit he _had_ done, did it? Scott could say Bucky was too good for Azzano, but sometimes, Bucky thought maybe he deserved it. Tony had never quite accepted that, not really. Tony thought Bucky _was_ a good man, and God knows, Bucky was trying, but...

“Okay,” Tony said. “So you’re offering him a job entirely of your own free will. That’s good, that’s a lot less scary than I was afraid it was going to be. You want to tell me why?”

“Maybe he deserves a chance,” Bucky said. “I won’t argue for him. He’s not a good man. He’s a thief, he’s a major asshole. He’s manipulative on a scale that makes Nat look like an amatuer, and he does it for personal gain. The shit I did to end up in prison was minor, stupid shit. Kid who didn’t know better shit. I’m not making excuses for myself; it _was_ stupid. It was illegal. It just all got real after Rumlow. Scott… Scott did all his stuff knowing what he was doing. But… he saved my life. I wasn’t gonna last in there. Not sixty days. Not two fucking weeks.”

“In return for sex,” Tony said, still terrifyingly calm. “Which Steve is, not unreasonably, calling rape. I’m not judging what you had to do to survive, honey. I’m just thinking that whatever he did to help you, that’s a debt that’s been paid in full. I’m all for giving people chances. God knows where I’d be now if you hadn’t given _me_ one. But I want to know what’s in your head, here.”

Bucky sighed. He really did not want to talk about this shit. Azzano… Azzano was so long ago, and it was dim and quiet and he knew damn well that it wouldn’t stay there if he talked about it. But he wasn’t going to lie to Tony. Not for Scott Lang.

“As th’ supposed victim here, I get to define what happened t’ me,” Bucky said, blinking. Not looking at Tony. “I don’t think of it that way. I didn’t feel… _forced_. Not with Scott. It was a trade of favors, and sex was the only currency I had. I didn’t have anything else, an’ if Scott… you can’t _look weak_ in there. If Scott took care of me for nothin’, then he’d have looked weak. He’d have lost respect. People woulda hurt me t’ get to him.”

Bucky scrubbed at his face with both hands. He hated thinking about Azzano, how terrified he’d been all the time. He’d taken more than one beating and there’d been a low level of violence that hung over everything like invisible fog. Maybe the first time with Scott had been less than voluntary -- payment for services rendered -- but Scott had been kind. Sweet, really, in a total dickweed sort of way. Funny. Kept Bucky’s spirits up.

“You know, it’s… it’s _different_ in prison. A lot of the guys, they’re not… they’re not gay, they’re just horny. Lotta people swing queer for a while and they go back to their lives and never touch dick again. But it means they’re sloppy. They got no idea what they’re doing. They hurt themselves, hurt their partner. But I am gay. It made me… a target. Both for courting… and for the other kind of stuff.”

He chewed his lip. “I know Scott doesn’t look like much. But when he wants to be, Tony, he’s so damn charming. He could sell ice cubes to penguins. He was friends with the guards, friends with the inmates. He knew everybody, and he could get you anything you wanted or needed. In Azzano… everybody liked him. And if you didn’t, he had this… friend. Peaches. Big guy. Bigger than Steve. You just didn’t fuck with them.”

“So he was a good person to be attached to,” Tony said. “I can understand that.”

“You know, for something that’s supposed to be a deterrent to crime, a lot of illegal shit goes on in prison,” Bucky said. “Nobody cares what happens, once you’re in there. The guards can beat the tar out of you just because they feel like it. They toss your cells and take your shit. If someone sends you cookies, you better fucking be sure to put some of them aside. And not like, thirty percent. And just because you’ve served your time doesn’t mean it’s over. If you’re a troublemaker, they can just sort of… up your sentence. You don’t get a trial for that. Just a judge, and you can guess how that goes, mostly. Time off for good behavior totally goes the other way. All the time. If you piss people off that you shouldn’t.”

Tony made a sound, soft and pained, but didn’t say anything, just waiting.

“Scott wasn’t small-time, but he wasn’t violent, which is why he was at Azzano instead of one of the maxsec places in Richmond. Ten years. Could have been home in six. Except…” Bucky broke off. He didn’t know how to say it, how to express just how damn awful it had been.

“Except he kept pissing off the wrong people,” Tony guessed.

“He took a fall for me, Tony,” Bucky blurted out. “It wasn’t him pissing people off, it was _me_.” He’d gotten on the bad side of some of the more corrupt guards early, but then he’d been stupid. He’d been propositioned by a guard for a quickie, and Bucky had thought he actually had a _choice_. Scott had tried to cover for him, but the whole mess had ended up with Scott in solitary, and coming back looking like shit, with bruises all over his back and legs. And just as determined to stand between Bucky and consequences as ever.

Bucky didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve Scott. Maybe… maybe this would be enough.

Tony came closer, close enough to brush the fall of hair back from Bucky’s face. “Honey...”

“I cost him time in solitary an’ six months,” Bucky admitted. “For parole, the hearings, they come up twice a year. Not that he didn’t do that shit to himself sometimes, too. He just got out, an’ I haven’t been there for six years, so you know. He might have gotten out for a while and done something to go right back. That happens to a lot of people, too. But that time, he took the blame for something I did. Because he said it was breaking me. If I had stayed another six months, I wouldn’t have… I’d have broken. He said that it didn’t matter, for him, that he was already as hard as he was getting. And _I let him do it_.”

Tony sighed, slow. “That’s what you owe him for,” he said. “Not for keeping you from getting beat up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Scott. I owe him. I do. And he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t really need the help.”

“What’s he asking for, exactly?”

“Just a job,” Bucky said. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “He’s an ex-con. A thief. He can’t get work. He’s behind on child support and his ex isn’t letting him see their daughter. Bad influence, you know.” He gave Tony a weak grin.

Tony snorted. “I’m sure his ex will turn that right around if he’s got a job working for his gay ex-cellmate. That’s much better.” But he wasn’t being all calm and emotionless, which was a vast improvement. “Tell me he’s got somewhere to stay. I can talk Steve around on the job thing, but he’ll kill both of us if you try to let Scott stay in the apartment.”

“Gonna remind Steve one of these days that he’s the one who brought Clint ‘round here when he was a con-artist and sleepin’ in his fucking car with a dog and like $10 to his name,” Bucky snorted. “But no. I owe Scott. I don’t trust him. Luis an’ Dave -- some other guys I knew from then -- they have a place up at Portsmouth. He can talk them into a spot on the couch, probably.”

Tony smiled, just a little bit. “Steve is just going to tell you that there wasn’t an 8-year-old living here when he brought Clint in, but you go ahead and give that a try, baby. Let me know how that goes.” He leaned in to kiss Bucky’s cheek, and then, softly, on the mouth. “I love you. But if this blows up, I’m going to tell you that I told you so. You know that, right?”

“Pretty sure there’ll be a line,” Bucky said. “I don’t see it working out long-term or anything. Scott’s… Well, he says he’s trying to go straight. I don’t know if I believe that. Could be trouble, if he makes some. Or maybe he’s just tired of that life. He wouldn’t be the first person who needed to start over. And Dockside’s been a good place for that, traditionally.” He laughed a little: they’d put a lot of bullshit into the pile of “it’s tradition” over the years. That’s what traditions were, right? Stupid shit you kept doing because it’s what you always did.

He risked a glance up at Tony. “You’re… not mad?”

“Pretty mad at Scott for just barging in here,” Tony said. “He’s going to have to suck up hard to get past that. Little mad at you for taking him on without talking to me and Steve first. But I’ll get over it, I expect. Couldn’t hurt for you to suck up some, too.”

Bucky scowled, just a little. “I said _conditionally_. I told _him_ that he had to talk you into it. Full partners, remember? But at least he ought to clean up the mess he made, before you cut him loose.” He ran a light finger over Tony’s pout, poking his bottom lip. “You know, Ma always said if you stuck your lip out like that, a rooster was gonna come sit on it to crow.” He scooted closer. “Took me ‘til I was about fifteen to make that into a blowjob joke, but…” He tipped his head, trying to decide if Tony _wanted_ a kiss or not. “If you want me to suck up, I tell you, I got dibs on the literal meaning of that, and Scott better damn well keep his hands to himself.” He went for the kiss with a mental shrug.

Tony returned it, warm and giving as he always was, and that was a relief like a cold drink on a hot day. “That goes double for you,” he said. “You’re mine, now.” He kissed Bucky again, with a little more heat. “But I’ll see how convincingly he can talk, and I’ll try to get Steve over it.” He poked a finger into Bucky’s chest. “ _You_ get to explain it to Nat, though.”

Bucky swallowed, hard. “Oh, god.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Tony was already mentally shaking his head as he left the office. Making ridiculous things sound reasonable was Bucky’s superpower, no question about it at all.

Tony found Lang in the dining room, industriously mopping up... was that ketchup? Steve was standing by the register, arms folded in his most alpha-male-posturing pose. Tony had been subjected to that pose a few times when he’d first come to Dockside. It was pretty effective.

Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony’s entrance. Tony shrugged and patted Steve’s arm. “Mr. Lang,” he called, “step into my office.” He pointed out the door that led onto the porch, and headed outside without waiting to see if Lang would follow.

The porch was well-situated, with a beautiful view of the ocean and the dock from which the restaurant took its name. Tony slid onto a barstool and leaned back against the bar to watch the waves roll.

Lang slouched out, looking astonishingly like Lucky when someone scolded him. “Mr… uh… Mr. Tony, yeah, um…” He twisted his fingers together nervously. “I dunno, am I supposed to shake your hand now, I did that earlier and it wasn’t a very good idea, you know, for my face and all, but. Hey, seriously, I know, I do. I understand, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want me around either, if I was a U.C. and all that. And I don’t… I don’t mind that Steve punched me in the face, that’s totally okay, completely cool. We’re cool. He can punch me in the face every other day, if it means I can have the job. If he wants. I mean, you know, if… I’ll shut up now.”

“He cannot punch you, I have issues with punching,” Tony said. “There will be no further punching, job or no job.” He eyed Lang for a moment, which made the nervous twisting of fingers intensify. “So, I am convinced that you _want_ the job. I do not need to be convinced that you can _do_ the job, because you appear to be relatively healthy and it’s not exactly rocket science--”

“-- I have a master’s degree in electrical engineering,” Lang interrupted. “From Virginia Tech. I think… I can do the job, yes, yes, sir, I really can.” He clamped his mouth shut again, eyes wide.

Tony stared at him for a moment. Electrical engineering, what even the fuck. Tony really had to get off his ass and kick off his night school plan if random criminals had master’s degrees. “...So as I was saying, what I need now is to be convinced that I want to _give_ you the job. Bucky’s talked me into giving you the interview; impress me with your reliability and trustworthiness.”

Lang slanted Tony a look. “Uh… I don’t think I can do that,” he said, finally. “I don’t… I got out of prison a few years back, I get a job offer from this U.C. suit. I told the guy my days of breaking into places and stealin’ stuff were over, what’s the job. And he says to me ‘I want you to break into a place and steal some stuff.’ And boom, I’m back in jail. He’s got what he wanted, so worked out for him, guess someone’s gotta benefit, right? But I’m tryin’ to go straight this time, I really am. I don’t… got references or anything. All I got is a reason.”

“Your daughter,” Tony said. “You think _this_ job will help with that?”

“I think it’s easier to look for work when you already have a job,” Lang shot back, and the stammering, eager-to-please facade dropped away for a moment, giving Tony a glimpse of the man underneath. “I think I have skills. I think that if I can scrape together enough money, I can get a tool kit and convert my van into a mobile workshop. I think if I can do that, I might be able to get someone to sponsor me to get bonded. Maybe. If I work hard. And I might be able to offer electrical and repair services to people who can’t afford some ninety-dollar an hour asshole to come take a fork out of their damn drain pipe.”

God damn it, Tony didn’t _want_ to like this asshole. “Huh. Okay, you have a plan. That’s good, that’s way more than most of Bucky’s projects have when they turn up. How old’s your daughter?”

Lang pulled out his wallet, dug through it and extracted a dog-eared and foxed picture, the sort that was taken at the Wal-Mart with a generic, ugly background. “She’s almost four. It’s her birthday in a few weeks. My ex says… she says if I have a job in time for the party, I can come by for fifteen minutes of supervised visitation.” He handed it to Tony, a picture of a cherubic kid with her hair up in puffy little ponytails.

“Cute,” Tony said. He looked at the picture a moment longer -- yeah, he could see Lang’s features echoed in the shape of her nose and the color of her eyes. He considered. “We’ve got a kid, too. She’s eight now. We just got done fighting a custody battle with her dad. It about killed Bucky, having to think about her being taken away.” He glanced at Lang, then turned his eyes back out on the ocean. “If we take you on, and you get mixed up in something that a person who’s gone straight shouldn’t be mixed up in, then it reflects on us. Her dad maybe decides to re-negotiate based on the fact that we had the poor judgment to hire you. You understand my concern?”

“I understand your concern,” Lang said. “I know, man. I know. I just need a break, that’s all. Just a break. Celly… you know, he’s… he was so… _good_. He was a good man, in a bad, shitty situation. I’m not. But I’m trying to be better. This little girl, she looks at me like I could be better, and I want… I want to deserve that.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, because he had his own special set of glasses these days that he used to see the world -- himself included -- through Billie’s eyes, and it ached, deep down, when that view wasn’t as beautiful as the one she deserved. “Okay. You’re hired. Avoid Steve for a while, he’s pretty pissed about the whole prison thing -- not that I’m _not_ , but Steve’s an idealist. You can go finish cleaning up before lunch. After lunch, you’re going to show me how you bypassed the security system and help me fix the damn thing.”

“Right. Thank you. Thanks. Wow. I. I mean that, thank you,” Lang stuttered a few times, held his hand out as if to shake Tony’s, and then drew it back again. “I’ll just… yeah, I’ll just… get to work, that’s what I’ll do and… thank you.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Tony offered his hand. “Welcome aboard, Scott.”

***

The last customer’s headlights had barely disappeared down the road before Nat threw her apron on the counter and turned to fix Bucky with a piercing stare. “You,” she declared. “It is your turn to buy me ice cream. We will go now.”

There were times when Bucky thought that the local Baskin & Robbins was only open until 1am because the Dockside crew was personally keeping them in business. He didn’t really want ice cream. In fact, Bucky thought there’d never been a time in his life when he was less interested in ice cream.

But Nat was glaring at him and tapping her foot and he was about fifteen seconds from getting a barrage of angry Russian spewn at him. He’d been keeping Scott out of Steve’s way all evening and that was getting goddamn tiring. Whatever. Let them fight it out, he was done. If Scott had any sense, he’d get in his van and go… do whatever it was he did when he wasn’t helping out.

“Right. Ice cream,” Bucky said. “Sure.” He closed down his computer and locked up the office, checking the door more than once, because Scott and his damn lockpicking skills made him nervous. “Let’s go, then.”

Nat tucked her arm through Bucky’s as they walked down the sidewalk. They’d gone maybe half a block when she said, “I think Steve and Tony do not much like the new busboy.”

“No,” Bucky said. “That might be understated, even for you.” The heat was oppressive; the sky was covered in thick clouds, blocking all moon and starlight, hanging heavy with rain, primed with thunder. The cicadas were loud, practically drowning out the surf. Typical evening. Except it really, really wasn’t.

“Why?” Well, that was direct. “Steve, that is not so surprising. He is not good with strangers, and you two squabble like brothers.” She waved a hand, dismissive. “But Tony -- that is unusual.”

“He’s not a stranger,” Bucky said. “Not to me. Scott and I have… history.”  He hesitated, but Steve would tell her if he didn’t, and the telling would be colored by Steve’s view on it. “Scott and I had an arrangement, back when I was… when I was in jail. Steve didn’t approve then. He certainly doesn’t think I should let Scott hang around.”

“Ah,” Nat said, which was almost anticlimactic. “That explains... much. Bucky...” She stopped and turned to face him, examining his face critically in the dim light. “Are you all right?”

He could actually taste the lie before he turned it away. It never did any good to lie to Nat, even when what he desperately wanted was to just pretend, for a little while, that things were okay, that he was all right. But he wasn’t, and she’d just dig it out of him. Painfully, like a rotted tooth. He swallowed, pushed the lie down and admitted the truth. “No. No, I’m not.”

She nodded. “I thought not.” She stretched up to run her fingers through his hair. “And the others, they are too tied up in their own feelings to see it. Come. Ice cream makes everything better.”

“You know, really, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t,” Bucky said, but followed her into the shop. Which only reminded him that Scott had worked here -- well, not _here_. If he’d been at this particular Baskin  & Robbins, everyone at Dockside would have known him already. He got one of Nat’s ridiculously large sundaes for her, topped with almost as many fruits, nuts, and candies as ice cream to start with, and a banana split for himself for the sole purpose of fending her off while she tried to steal bites. They hadn’t had a spoon duel in a while, but maybe it would take his mind off things.

She cheerfully tried to nag him into getting _her_ favorite ice cream flavors, and kibitzed at the poor server about the number of cherries she needed on her sundae, but pulled him back outside to the patio seating when they’d paid. “Look at that,” she told him, pointing at their heaping bowls with her spoon. “What could trouble you, with this ice cream to eat?”

“It’s just one of those situations, Nat,” Bucky said. He rather obediently ate at least some of his ice cream. Pushing it in front of her to eat both would be everything she said she desired, and nothing like what she actually wanted. It would give unspoken words to just how depressed Bucky was feeling. So he ate it, even if it really didn’t taste like much of anything. “It doesn’t matter, really, which decision I made. Someone was going to be mad, and I was going to feel like shit about it. I could take Scott in, help him. Trust him, maybe a little. Despite the fact that looking at him just… _reminds me_. That I don’t _want_ him here. If I’m being truly selfish, I don’t want any of that; I want to just forget it ever happened and live my life like it didn’t. Such a short period of time, don’t you think, to just… erase? And Steve, god, Steve is so fucking mad at me. I mean, I understand why, but... ”

“Of course he is not mad at you. Well, maybe a little. But mostly, I think, he is worried. He is worried that Scott is a bad person who will hurt you -- again -- and he will not be able to stop it. Again. It is like when the senator used to come, and Steve would be angry that you did not listen to him telling you that it was bad. A _little_ angry, because you do not listen, but _mostly_ angry because he cannot stop the tide.” She slanted a look at him from under her lashes. “You know this already,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess?” Bucky said. “I know, I’m not smart. This… this isn’t smart and I know it. But I don’t know that I could live with myself, if I turned my back on him. If I decided that what he did for me meant nothing? Scott wouldn’t even blame me for it. But I would blame me for it.”

“Then you have done the right thing,” she said, as if it was that easy. “Scott will prove Steve’s fears unfounded -- as Clint did, and Tony -- and Steve will come around, with time. Or he will prove Steve’s fears to be valid, and we will protect you as best we can, as we have done before as well.” She shrugged.

“Scott’s not going to hurt me, not… not the way Steve thinks,” Bucky said. He fished a cherry out of his rapidly melting puddle of ice cream. “If anything, it’s more that he’ll succumb to the temptation to do something extraordinarily stupid. Scott’s… very smart, but he’s not… _smart_. And if he gets arrested again, it’s possible that someone will look at me, and start wondering if I was involved. Trouble. I think that’s what Tony is worried about. And, you know, the fact that Tony thinks I have Stockholm Syndrome.”

Nat huffed and picked a gummy bear out of the remains of her sundae. “He is, perhaps, a little jealous. And also worried for you. He will also come around.” She said it with utter conviction.

Bucky blinked. Jealous? Tony? That didn’t seem likely. Tony didn’t get jealous, not even when Thor insisted on trying to kiss Bucky at every random meeting. Tony just thought it was funny. Bucky shrugged inwardly. Sometimes Nat was wrong. It had happened. A few times. Probably. He discovered that he was doodling in the bottom of his ice cream boat in the remains of chocolate sauce. He couldn’t remember Nat stealing a bite, either, so he must have eaten it all. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, finally. “I guess I’m just sulking a little. Had to go back and revisit some of the worst memories _of my life,_ and what I get for it is everyone bein’ pissed off and tense. It just sucks, Nat. That’s all. Nothing I can do about it but wait and see how this plays out.”

She nodded, carefully scraping the last atoms of caramel from the bottom of her bowl. “Sometimes, that is life,” she said. “Things suck, and you must wait them out. At least this time, you have ice cream.” She flashed a quick grin at him. “Also, you have us. Me and Steve and Sam and Tony. But mostly ice cream.”

“Mostly you,” Bucky corrected, pointing his spoon at her. “And Tony. I’d have you all, even if there were no ice cream left in the world.”

“No,” Nat said with finality. “If there is no ice cream left in the world, I have no reason to live.”

“Wine. Chocolate. Orgasms. Billie’s Mac & Cheese,” Bucky offered, making a question mark with his spoon. “They’re all pretty good, too.”

“Hm.” She considered it. “I suppose. I insist on a period of mourning, though. It would be a great tragedy.”

“That’s fair,” Bucky conceded. “Shall I get you a to-go pint?”

She considered it, and shook her head. “No. If I have a to-go pint, I cannot make Steve stop for ice cream on the way home. But you should take Tony a to-go pint.”

“Probably a good plan,” Bucky said. A peace offering; not an apology, because Bucky hadn’t done anything wrong, and gifts for apologies were verboten in their household. But… to remind Tony that Bucky thought about him. Loved him. After all, Nat was right. Ice cream made everything better.


	5. Chapter 5

Car horns that played _La Cucaracha_ had gone out of style about thirty seconds after they were invented, but some asshat who hadn’t gotten that message yet was blasting the damn thing from the restaurant parking lot. Tony groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. He didn’t even care what time it was, it was too early for this nonsense.

Bucky grumbled and rolled out of the bed, hopefully to go tell them to fuck off. Tony waited a few minutes, and when the horn didn’t play again, sighed and let himself drift back toward sleep.

He woke up again a little later -- ten minutes? An hour? He didn’t know -- and realized that Bucky’s side of the bed was still empty.

Bucky was one of those people who, once awake, _stayed_ awake, so that wasn’t too unusual. If he got up before their usual waking time -- to go to the bathroom, to tell Billie to turn the TV down, even once to deal with a delivery van that had turned up three hours earlier than expected -- then he usually just stayed up.

That meant there would probably be coffee waiting, and maybe breakfast, if Billie hadn’t eaten it all. (Seriously, she was _eight_ ; where did she put it all? Was she taking lessons from Nat?) That sounded pretty good, actually. Tony blinked up at the ceiling for a minute, weighing coffee-and-breakfast against another half-hour or so of sleep, and decided on breakfast. Because coffee.

He got up and shuffled his way out of the bedroom. Billie, as usual on a summer morning, was still in her pajamas, curled up on the couch with Muffin and watching TV. Tony checked the show -- _Phineas and Ferb_ , nice -- and made his way into the kitchen. There was coffee, but no breakfast. Boo.

Tony poured his coffee. “Hey, buttercup, where’s Bucky?”

Billie didn’t look away from the TV, but she managed to wave her hand toward the window. “Outside.”

“Huh, okay. You eaten yet?”

“Cereal.”

“That counts.” Tony slurped at his coffee and wandered over to the window to look out.

Bucky was on the porch, sitting in one of the cast-iron chairs that had been out there for as long as Tony could remember, which meant probably as long as Bucky could remember. He was leaning on the table, a cigarette in one hand that had an alarmingly tall ash-stack, and an expression of concentration on his face. He reached out, fingers hovering over something Tony couldn’t quite see.

“You touch that piece, Celly, you’re committed,” Scott said, voice muted but not entirely blocked by the window’s glass. Bucky kicked something under the table. “Ow!”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.”

“Yeah, I know what _you’re_ thinking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s gorgeous --”

“Not as gorgeous as you are.”

“Where’d you get it? Don’t tell me you stole it. Please don’t. Even if you did, do not tell me that you stole this, Scott.”

“Nah, Luis gave it to me, when I told him you like to play. His cousin, Ignacio, he’s datin’ this writer chick, like super-fine, man, super crazy fine girl, and she has a brother who works in one of those pawn shops, you know, taking people’s crap and giving them ten dollars for it, and he told his sister that the set was there, and had been for like months, the guy wasn’t coming back for it, even though, this has got to be worth like hundreds of dollars to the right buyer -- I mean, smell that, Celly, that’s cedar and sandalwood -- and so the brother tells her and she tells Ignacio and Ignacio told Luis, who told me, because I asked him if he had a set, because I thought we might play again.”

Scott goddamned Lang. Was sitting on their balcony. Playing a game with Bucky. Tony closed his eyes and counted to six before he realized that had been Scott fucking Lang’s goddamned _La Cucaracha_ horn at stupid o’clock.

(A tiny sliver of rationality in the very back of Tony’s brain tried to point out that it wasn’t any earlier than Nat had turned up, occasionally, to drag Tony to some unconventional breakfast, and it was in fact rather later than Steve insisted they get up to go to Busch Gardens for his birthday every year. Tony reminded that part of his brain that this was not Nat or Steve, but in fact _Scott fucking Lang_ , and it conceded the point.)

Tony opened his eyes and took another gulp of coffee, then went back into the kitchen and refilled the mug. “Be right outside if you need me,” he told Billie, and pushed through the door.

“You know, you know,” Scott was saying, his leg pressed against Bucky’s under the table, “that I’ve seen a chess set made of ice; for people who take as long to make a damn move as you do. I swear, I can feel myself getting older here, Celly. How long does it take you to decide--”

Bucky grabbed a piece and moved, capturing Scott’s knight.

“--oh. Good move. Yeah, okay. Okay, wow, yeah, you haven’t lost your touch at all. I mean, you always were good with your moves.”

“Keep your flattery to yourself,” Bucky said. “In the end, it won’t save you.” He was cradling Scott’s piece in one hand and raised it to his nose to sniff again before putting it down, an elaborately carved piece of blond wood that looked like a figure in armor riding a small wooden dragon.

“I don’t expect it to save me,” Scott said. “I expect my mad skills to save me.” He moved, taking a pawn. “Check.”

“The fuck.” Bucky stared at the board. “If I grab your wrist, am I gonna find a piece stuffed up your sleeve?”

“No, but you’re welcome to hold my hand if you want to,” Scott said, laughing.

“Good morning,” Tony said pointedly. He walked up behind Bucky’s chair and leaned over to kiss Bucky in greeting. The chess board on the table was gorgeous, the pieces finely carved, and the game well underway. “I didn’t know you played chess,” he said to Bucky, and tried not to feel a little betrayed about that.

“He’s got skills, _en passant_ ,” Scott said, then beamed. “Oh, look at that, I made a chess pun. Wow. Come on, come on, make outs later. Your reputation is at stake here, and I will absolutely claim a penalty if you lose. Morning, Mr. Tony.” Scott gave him a little wave, absently but full of cheer, while he continued to stare daggers at Bucky.

“Ranked eighteen hundred, by the time I was out of high school,” Bucky said. “Enough to compete, but my dad thought it was a waste of time, so I never did much with it after school. Not until Scott and a couple of the other guys got into running tourneys. The guards kept busting up their poker rings.” He kissed the underside of Tony’s jaw, then moved himself out of check.

“I’m the boss, I’m the boss, I’m the boss,” Scott muttered, moving again. “Check.”

Okay, so Tony was going to feel a _little_ betrayed. He hadn’t met anyone who could give him a challenge at chess since his aborted college career -- Ty would play if he pushed, but then got pissy if he lost, so Tony had stopped asking. Scott had Bucky in check, but Tony could see the board in another three, four, five moves, and if Bucky didn’t fuck it up, he was on track to win it.

Bucky moved his king again, back behind the pawn line.

“You always go for a castle defense,” Scott mocked, shifting his bishop again. “You’re gonna get pinned in there, and I’m going to have a go at your gates with my battering ram.”

“That’s stretching the metaphor, Monty,” Bucky pointed out. He kicked Scott’s ankle again. “You gonna flirt or you gonna play?”

“Oh, wow, Celly, no one’s called me that in years,” Scott said. “Check.” He batted his lashes at Bucky. “Both. Both. Both is good. I can play and flirt.” He dropped his hand under the table and cupped Bucky’s knee.

“I am _right here_ ,” Tony said, and if he sounded a little testy, it wasn’t entirely unwarranted, was it?

Scott blinked, looked up at Tony with wide eyes. “Yeah, I know, I said good morning, didn’t I? I meant to, I’m sorry, sometimes I forget. Well, good morning, if I forgot to say it. Gotta keep both eyes on this one, all the time. He’s sneaky. Back in Azzano, they used to say he was a ghost. If you weren’t watching him all the time, poof, he just disappeared.”

Bucky moved himself out of check again and smirked. “Check.”

“What? What?” Scott turned his attention back to the board -- Tony noticed with a low growl that Scott still hadn’t moved his hand -- and scowled. “See, what did I tell you, man, cocksucker is a goddamn _ghost_.” Scott moved again, then swore. “Nevermind, I concede. You cocky son of a bitch.”

Bucky put his foot on Scott’s chair and shoved him backward several inches, the chair legs scraping noisily against the wood. “Now, what’s this you were saying about penalties?”

“Nice job, babe,” Tony said, and tried to shove aside the way he wanted to snarl at Scott. Christ, what was wrong with him? He’d never been jealous of any of Bucky’s previous partners before, not even Thor, who still insisted on attempting to greet Bucky with a kiss. And Scott hadn’t even been a real boyfriend, just... a convenient person to hide behind. But somehow, Scott’s casual flirtation and Bucky’s ready acceptance of it made Tony want to puff up and hiss like an offended cat.

“Best two out of three?” Scott offered. He picked up a pawn, a little man with a curved sword, and held it flat in his palm. He twitched a finger, closed his hand, opened it again. The pawn was gone. He opened the other hand to show it.

“No, no,” Bucky said, grinning. “You said _penalties_ , not a tourney. I want to know what you thought you were going to get out of me.” He reached out absently and pulled Tony up against his side, leaning his head against Tony’s belly, still challenging Scott with his smile that got a little sharper as Scott continued to try to dazzle and distract with his sleight-of-hand.

“Nothin’ I haven’t gotten out of you before,” Scott said, opening and closing his hand. Pawn, queen, pawn. He slammed both hands down on the table, raised them up. Both bishops.

Tony twitched. Scott was _not_ seriously implying what it _sounded_ like he was implying, with Tony standing right here.

Was he?

Dammit, Tony needed to get this under control or Bucky was going to end up thinking Tony didn’t trust him.

Which he did. Tony trusted Bucky with _everything_. He just didn’t trust Scott Lang as far as he could throw the bastard.

Tony took a deep breath, and let it out, and leaned a little harder into Bucky’s side.

“All right,” Bucky said. Scott’s eyes lit up like a demented jack-o-lantern and he was on his feet in seconds. Bucky stood up, slow and easy, his whole body casual grace. “The usual?”

“Oh, _hell_ yes!” Scott jumped up, doing a wild little fist-pump victory dance.

What the fuck, what the _fuck_ was happening? Tony’s throat closed against the sudden rush of nausea and he wildly tried to tell himself that he was imagining things, but Jesus _Christ_ the look on Scott’s face was--

Bucky planted his hand right over Scott’s face as the man came closer, fingers splayed out like one of those alien babies in the Sigourney Weaver movies. “ _Winner’s_ choice,” Bucky said, firmly, then turned, hand still on Scott’s head and kissed Tony like Tony was a lifeline and Bucky was drowning. Tony wasn’t sure when Bucky let go of Scott, but he found himself backed up against the wall and kissed and kissed and _kissed_. Bucky’s mouth was hot and eager, tongue teasing at the crease of Tony’s lip until he opened up, helpless against Bucky’s sensual onslaught.

Bucky got his thigh in between Tony’s legs and lifted him, just a little, until he was clinging to Bucky with both hands just to stay upright.

When Bucky finally pulled away, just enough to breathe, Tony’s head dropped back and a soft, helpless sound escaped his throat. “Oh, _god_ ,” he gasped.

“This is awesome. It’s awesome, you know? You guys are totally in love. It’s _important_. It’s beautiful. Also, like, wow, really, really hot,” Scott burst in and when they both turned to stare at him, he made a face. “And… and I totally ruined the moment, didn’t I?”

“What the fuck, Lang,” Tony groaned. “Why.”

“I’m… I’m just gonna go get lunch prep started,” Scott said, pointing with both index fingers down the stairs. He didn’t say another word, just left. A moment later, Tony heard the door open up under them.

He breathed out again, and it wasn’t relief, it was just... a breath. Yes. He leaned his forehead against Bucky’s. “So what was your plan if he _had_ won?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“Didn’t have one,” Bucky admitted. “But we didn’t agree to a forfeit before we started the game; he was pushing and I knew it. And what’s more, he knew that I knew it. Scott always pushes. It’s how he stays ahead. He takes everything you’ll give him and goes looking for everything else he thinks you don’t need or won’t miss. I thought it was good to remind him of the things that I _need_ and that I’d miss.” He tapped Tony’s lower lip with one finger and then leaned in, brushing his lips over that exact spot.

Tony tipped his head, seeking a deeper kiss that Bucky gave him without any hint of hesitation. “He can’t have you,” Tony said, only slightly ashamed of how petulant it sounded. “Not even a little bit.”

Bucky kissed Tony again, mouth moving slow and heated. His hand went into Tony’s hair and pulled a bit, sending zinging sparks across his scalp and he nudged and pushed until Tony was riding his thigh, Bucky’s erection a heavy weight against Tony’s belly. “And so he shan’t,” Bucky said. “I’m all yours, baby.” He mouthed his way down Tony’s neck to that spot at the join of his shoulder, licking and nipping at the skin there. “But don’t let him see you bleed about it, Tony. He will poke, if he thinks he’s found a weakness. Just to rile you, and then it’s all hands spread out and the queen of hearts up his sleeve. He doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just how you have to be. To survive. Don’t give him an _inch_.”

Tony knew the type. He sighed and nodded. “I’ll try. He’s got a hell of a talent for getting under my skin, though. Might need you to remind me once in a while.”

“Anything you need,” Bucky promised. “I know you’re just… humoring me, here. I know, and I’m grateful that you’re being as understanding as you are. If… if you want me to let him go now, I will. I promise. You’re my whole world. My home, right here in my arms.” Bucky’s eyes were wide, absolutely sincere.

God, Tony was utterly helpless against those eyes. He couldn’t even hold onto the jealousy, knowing that Bucky had never, _would_ never, look at Scott like that. He pulled Bucky closer, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in the scent of Bucky’s skin and hair. “You’re mine, too, you know,” he sighed. “It’s okay, he hasn’t crossed any lines. Quite. Just... I don’t know. Keep reminding him.”

“I don’t even think he sees the lines,” Bucky admitted. “He just goes forward until something pushes him back.” He turned Tony’s hand in his and dropped a kiss on Tony’s ring. “Love, honor, and cherish for the rest of our lives. Maggie divorced Scott while he was in prison, but I don’t know that they ever… had anything like this. Not to listen to him talk. I feel sorry for him. But I love _you_ , Tony. Have almost since the moment we met.”

Tony brushed his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek. “I know,” he said, smiling, and huffed a little. “Now I feel like a possessive asshole.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked. “It’s a good look on you. Makes me want to _do things_ with you, make you believe it. But maybe we can only drag that out on special occasions. It’s a suit that wrinkles real quick. You and I both know that. I love you, I trust you. I know you feel the same. And I hereby give you permission to throw Scott out the window if he doesn’t stop acting the lecherous asshole.”

Tony laughed, and it left him feeling lighter. “I _do_ trust you,” he promised. “And as much as I appreciate that permission, it would just be one more thing I have to fix.” He grinned and kissed Bucky again, slow and hot. “Nn. Billie needs to have a sleepover at Kendra’s soon so I can show off my inner caveman.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, easily enough. “We could play chess. For _penalties_.”

Tony hummed approval. “You might have to offer me a handicap, eighteen hundred. Just to keep things fair.”

“Uh-huh, certified genius,” Bucky scolded, lightly, nuzzling at Tony’s jaw. “Do I _look_ stupid?”

“Worth a try,” Tony mock-sighed.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: For our smut-averse readers: this is a smut chapter. For everyone else: the smut contains some mild breathplay; be aware of your own comfort levels and as always feel free to contact us for specifics before diving in, if that would help.

The first crack of thunder was so loud that Bucky wondered if someone had flipped a table out in the dining room. (It had happened before. Sometimes people leaned hard on one end of the table and _wham_.) A few seconds later, the rain came down, slamming into the windows and pattering over the roof like a hyperactive drumline. Bucky flipped the burgers, dropped cheese on them. He’d sent Steve out on break early and taken over the grill because Steve had a bad habit of “forgetting” to make dinner for Scott, and Scott was being uncharacteristically close-mouthed about it. The third day he’d caught Scott sneaking in early to make himself avocado toast in the morning because Steve hadn’t let him eat the night before, Bucky just started making sure that he made Scott’s dinner.

He’d just plated the burger and stuck it under a heat lamp to keep for Scott’s break in twenty minutes when the lights flared up super bright and then crackled and the entire restaurant went dark.

There was a brief flurry of panicked voices in the dining room. Lightning tore across the sky, sending a photo-flash of illumination in through the windows, and then it was gone, leaving Bucky blinking a purple jagged line into nothingness. The thunder rolled, deep, loud and angry.

The lights flickered on again. A relieved laugh from the dining room, and then they went out again.

There was a long, pregnant pause while everyone waited to see if they’d come back again.

They didn’t.

Another lightning strike. Closer. The thunder practically ripped the air open with its shattering boom.

“Okay, then,” Bucky said. He scrambled for his phone, got the flashlight app up and picked his way across the kitchen floor to punch up the generator. The emergency lights flickered and spilled their dull, ugly yellow into the room. The genny could keep emergency lights on for two days and keep the fridge and freezer running for at least thirty-six hours before they’d have to refill the gas tank, but the stove was out for the night.

Tony’s voice rose from the dining room over the murmur of customers. “Nat -- bring me the tickets and I’ll add them up and see if I can run them or if we’ll have to do the manual credit slips. Scott, go help Wanda box up everyone’s food; the generator’ll keep us long enough to get everyone out.” His voice rose another notch: “Sorry, everyone, safety laws prohibit us letting you stay for a romantic candlelight dinner. Please stay in your seats and we’ll get you your checks and boxes for whatever you haven’t eaten yet.”

Bucky went around the kitchen, turning off everything with draw that wasn’t necessary; the last thing they needed was a short when the power came back on. The building’s ancient electric wasn’t up for that. Thank god that Billie was at Kendra’s for the night. She probably wouldn’t be any less scared -- Billie’s fear of the dark and dependence on her nightlight had been a discussion a few times between Bucky and Tony, but Bucky was willing to let it go for now. If, a year or so after Becca’s death, it was still a problem, they’d start working on it. But at least she wasn’t _here_ , where Bucky would have to deal with her at the same time as customers. And Sarah Casper would make a game of it. Flashlights and glowsticks. Bucky smiled. His niece and her friend would be having a mini-eight-year-old rave in a few minutes, he was just sure of it.

Even as fast as Tony was with numbers, it took a good half hour for them to get all the customers squared away. A few more grumbly patrons got partial discounts, but most were content to pay up and take their food home with them.

The downpour was horrific, the rain coming down so thick it was hard to see. The lack of streetlights didn’t help any. Scott was quick and clever, dashing out to his van to grab two enormous golf umbrellas. He nudged Wanda into helping him escort customers out to their cars. He was drenched to the knees by the time they finally got the place cleared.

After that, there wasn’t a lot to do; the cash in the register was bagged and stuffed in the safe, but it couldn’t be logged until the computers were back online. Dishes were brought into the kitchen, but Bucky made a face when Steve suggested doing them by hand. “I bought that dishwasher for a reason, Stevie,” he joked, grabbing Tony around the middle and pulling him close. “Mostly because I didn’t want these hands to be all dishwater-ruined and chapped.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about your sex life, Buck.”

“Oh, oh, I do, I could listen, if you want!” Scott added, bringing in another bucket of glasses.

“Or you could get your own sex life,” Tony said pointedly, taking the bucket. “We’ll load the dishwasher tonight and if the power comes back before we go to bed, we’ll come down to run it then. Otherwise, we’ll start it when we get up for breakfast, and it’ll be good to go by lunch.”

“Was that an offer?” Scott wondered, turned to the nearest person as if to ask their opinion and then realized it was Steve. He took several steps away and sidled up to Wanda. “That sounded like an offer to me. Did it sound like an offer to you? Because I dunno. Mr. Tony’s pretty hot, don’t you think? Nice butt, very… very _round_.”

Wanda clapped both hands over her mouth and practically bent herself in half with the giggles.

“Yes, it _is_ a fabulous ass, thank you very much,” Tony said, bending over unnecessarily far to load the dishwasher, “and no one gets to do anything with it beyond looking unless they think they can beat out Bucky for Best Spouse. Which, I’m just going to add, is not anyone in this room, I’m afraid.”

Bucky leaned against the staff table to watch as Tony flexed sinuously. On his list of physical things he adored about his husband, Tony’s seriously fine ass was on the goddamn top. Perfectly round, absolutely tempting. Bucky had to wrap his hands around his upper arms to keep from walking over and helping himself to a handful.

Nat’s voice carried from the dining room. “I am not in the room, Antonishka.”

“Okay, no,” Steve said, firmly. “This is decidedly a Rule Twelve situation. Nope, nope, nope, I am noping right out of this conversation.”

“What’s Rule Twelve?” Scott asked, taking another few steps away from Steve just to be safe.

In chorus, where available, Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Nat all chimed in, “ _No visualizing_!”

“That… that seems like a self-punishing rule, really,” Scott pointed out.

Tony finished loading the washer and threw a towel at Steve’s head. “Whatever, you know you want a piece of this.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up and then he threw an absolutely _wicked_ look at Tony. “I’d take you over my knee, but I’m worried I might break you.”

Bucky choked on air. _What the hell, Stevie?_

“I’d explain how wrong you are,” Tony shot back, “but I’m technically your boss and I don’t want to be sued for sexual harassment.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky said. “Everyone grab your respective bed partners and get out of my kitchen. Go home. Have sex. Don’t tell me about it. And… Scott, go… do whatever it is you do.”

Scott made a very exaggerated spread-fingered wave. “Just me an’ Mary Palmer, I’m afraid.”

Tony caught Bucky’s wrist and started dragging him toward the door. “Behold, I am setting an example and following orders!”

Bucky grinned and let Tony drag him out of the restaurant and into the torrential downpour. “Lock up, Steve,” he yelled over his shoulder, rainwater already sticking his shirt to his skin and making his legs uncomfortable. The rain was cold, but the air and ground were still warm; a thick fog was pooling around their feet.

Bucky planted his feet and let Tony bounce against the end of his tether, hauling him back in for a rain-drenched kiss.

Tony laughed into it and twined his arms around Bucky’s neck. “In the rain, really?”

Bucky nodded, lifting Tony up and bracing him against the side of the building, kissing him again, tasting rain on his lips, feeling Tony’s heat seeping through their soaking wet clothes. “In the rain,” he agreed, then added, “on a train. In a box, wearing socks. I will kiss you here or there. I will kiss you everywhere.”

Tony burst into laughter. “Oh, my god, I married a _dork_.” He kissed Bucky -- not their finest kiss ever, because Tony was still half-laughing, but he tasted like rain and _Tony_ and that was enough for Bucky.

“And you love me,” Bucky declared. He rolled his hips, feeling Tony’s body against his, slick and wet and warm. He nipped Tony’s ear. “You knew what I was when you accepted my proposal, and you said ‘I do’ anyway, so you’re the only one to blame for your predicament.” Part of _Bucky’s_ predicament was that Tony’s shirt was sticking to his skin and Bucky was having trouble getting his hands under it. He settled for teasing at Tony’s nipple through the cloth until it was a hard nub pushing at the fabric. He lowered his mouth and covered it with heat, ignoring the faint taste of thread because Tony was arching into it and moaning wantonly.

“God, you’re a menace. A dorky menace,” Tony gasped, pushing his hands into Bucky’s hair, water and tangles be damned. “You going to put me down so we can go upstairs and do this properly?”

“Or you could unzip and I’ll blow you right here,” Bucky suggested, emboldened by the sheer blackness around them, only the faintest spill from the emergency lights coming under the door. He ran his hand up Tony’s hip to tease at the bare skin over his waistband, chilled with rain and rippling gooseflesh as soon as his fingers skated over it.

Tony groaned and tightened his grip on Bucky’s hair. “Ohgod,” he gasped. “I love how you pick the night we don’t have a kid to decide we don’t need our house to fool around.”

Bucky let Tony down gently, holding his hips until he was certain Tony was steady on his feet. He ran an exploratory hand over the front of Tony’s jeans, a little harder than he meant to, because the fabric was soaked and his hand didn’t move as easily, drawing a dark moan from Tony’s throat. “Was that a pass?” He found the tang of Tony’s zipper and flipped it a few times. “It can just be a warm up; I don’t have to let you come, just get you all eager an’ beggin’ for it. Evening’s appetizer special.” The hell with getting Tony all wound up, Bucky was dragging himself through anticipation like a river trout.

Tony let out a ragged laugh. “Have I ever, _ever_ said no to your mouth on _any_ part of my body?” he asked. He pulled Bucky in and kissed him, tongue delving deep into Bucky’s mouth, and his hands slid roughly down Bucky’s body to grab Bucky’s ass and drag them closer together, rutting into Bucky’s hip.

Wet denim was a bigger tease than anything Bucky could have come up with. It took longer than Bucky would have liked to get Tony’s cock out, although once he did, he noticed the convenient handhold of Tony’s belt loops and the way his jeans kept his thighs pinned together. Dropping to one knee was slightly squishy and uncomfortable: rain water and mud seeped into his jeans.

There wasn’t enough light to bother making bedroom eyes at Tony, or to tease him by hovering just out of reach, but he did pause, just enough to let his breath warm up rain-chilled skin before opening his mouth and taking Tony in.

“Oh, god, the things you do to me,” Tony groaned, hips pushing forward in an involuntary surge before Bucky hooked his thumbs through Tony’s belt loops and pinned Tony’s hips back against the wall. “ _God_ , I love you. Bucky, oh, _fuck_ , yes...”

Bucky hummed thoughtfully at that, could barely hear himself over the pouring rain. No one else would be able to hear them either, so he did it again, louder, working vibrations in his throat to tease and torment with. He licked and sucked at Tony with a careless lack of elegance, swallowing him back until Bucky was nearly gagging from it, mouth ruthless with want, with need. He worked Tony’s jeans down a little further until he could tease at his crack. The Dockside’s rough, wooden wall scraped at Bucky’s knuckles, a delicious stinging pain to counter the heat flaring in his belly and the tingling of his lips and tongue.

Tony whimpered and groaned and pushed against Bucky’s hold, his hand warm on the top of Bucky’s head where it rested, not making demands but simply touching, keeping contact. He tried to spread his legs wider and whined at the restriction of the jeans, the frustration making his cock pulse with wanting, the bitter flavor of pre-come flooding Bucky’s tastebuds. “Baby, _please_ ,” he gasped.

Bucky circled the broad head with his tongue, tracing one finger lightly down the shaft, delighting at Tony’s shivers -- his hands were getting _cold_ out here -- and the indignant squawk when Bucky slid his hand back to cup Tony’s balls. He chuckled, then slurped Tony down again until Tony had to brace against the wall, thighs quivering, legs weak. Bucky licked his lips, then mouthed a line of hot, wet kisses over Tony’s belly before very carefully pulling the jeans back up. He didn’t bother to try to close them; Tony could hook his pants up for the quick trip up the stairs. “Can you walk, baby?” His voice wasn’t quite mocking, but a little smug pride edged in there anyway. He loved getting Tony to this wrecked vulnerability, something Tony would never let anyone else see.

Tony stayed leaning against the wall for a moment, panting. “You going to carry me if I say no?”

“I could,” Bucky said, eyeing the wet stairs and considering it, “but it’s not going to be the least bit fun for anyone.” He’d have to use a fireman’s carry, and god help them both if he slipped. He settled for tempting. He leaned in, kissed Tony for a count of ten, then backed up a few steps and waited.

Tony pouted, but heaved himself off the side of the building and followed Bucky. “Using the same tactic on me that you use on the animals is not earning you any points, you know.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, kissing Tony again, drawing a teasing circle around his nipple. He mounted the staircase and walked backward a few steps, waiting again. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Tony followed again, holding the stair rails and reaching up on his toes to claim another kiss. “Such a jerk,” he accused, in a tone that meant anything but.

“Yep,” Bucky said, popping the p. With kisses and teasing caresses, he managed to get Tony up the stairs and into the house where the lingering air conditioning was suddenly and brutally uncomfortable. Bucky was soaking wet. His pants, especially from the knees down, were dripping with mud and rainwater was pooling in the foyer. “Ug.” He started peeling out of his wet clothes as fast as possible, no longer even the slightest bit interested in drawing it out. Not entirely unencouraged by the raging, throbbing erection he had that was complaining, loudly, about the cold, wet jeans.

Tony, having a head-start on Bucky by already having had his jeans peeled down over his hips, managed to shuck his wet clothes much faster. He dropped his t-shirt on top of his jeans and underwear in an untidy pile, then pinched Bucky’s butt. “I’ll see you in the bedroom,” he sing-songed, and danced out of the way when Bucky reached for him, laughing. He should have looked a little silly, erection bobbing with his movement, but the lack of light and Bucky’s endless appreciation for Tony’s ass just made it even more appealing. Tony laughed again and blew Bucky a kiss, then padded off down the hall toward their room.

One of these days, he was going to kill Jan for getting him addicted to jeans that showed off his -- as she called them -- thighs of betrayal. They were too damn tight, sometimes. He eventually had to roll the damn things down his legs before he was finally naked and ready to chase his husband down and drop raspberries all over his stomach for being a twerp.

Except when he got to the bedroom, he took one look at what Tony had been up to and how he was spread across the bed like an offering and Bucky promptly forgot all plans of mock vengeance.

Tony had lit half a dozen candles, filling the room with warm, soft light that made Tony look like some kind of Renaissance portrait, lounging across the bed with a cloth strategically draped over his groin. Except that when Bucky stepped fully into the room, Tony lifted the cloth in offering, and Bucky realized it was a towel for his still-dripping hair. Tony grinned at whatever he saw on Bucky’s face and got up, muscles flexing and stretching with graceful ease, and came across the room to wrap the towel around Bucky’s shoulders and start drying. “You like?”

“Looking at you, sweetheart,” Bucky said, twisting a bit of Tony’s hair between his fingers, just behind Tony’s ear, “makes me forget how to breathe. Every single damn time.”

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and brushed his lips against Bucky’s, not quite a kiss, just a light caress. “Guess I’ll have to remind you, then.”

The dull ember of his wanting flared to life again with a sudden inhale. He drew Tony into his arms, let his whole body press against Tony’s, feeling again how they matched up so nicely, how he only had to turn his head just a little to capture Tony’s mouth, how his hands went naturally to rest on Tony’s picture perfect backside, how Tony tipped up on his toes, just a little, to cling ‘round Bucky’s neck as if Bucky was Tony’s sole support. All the blood in his body was pounding so loudly he couldn’t think. He could only feel Tony’s generous, sensual, playful mouth opening beneath his, moving with a kind of pleading hunger.

Tony kissed like a dream, _Bucky’s_ dream, and it had been that way since the first time their lips had met, an electric shock that had rocked him to his core. Sometimes Bucky was happy to just kiss, taste those perfect lips for as long as Tony would let him. But right at this very moment, Bucky thought he might spontaneously combust if he didn’t have a bed under him and his husband on top of him, a heavy, warm weight to hold him down. He drew Tony toward the bed and pulled him down.

Tony wriggled as he settled on Bucky’s chest and torso, a wonderful torment, and then squirmed some more, and he was straddling Bucky, kneeling on either side of Bucky’s hips and leaning his forearms against Bucky’s shoulders. He lowered his face to Bucky’s, a hot, fierce kiss that trailed off to wander up Bucky’s jaw. “Alone at last.”

Bucky wrapped one hand around the back of Tony’s neck and drew him down for more kisses, his mouth irresistibly seductive. God, loving Tony hurt like a heart attack, but it was the sweetest, best kind of pain. He would walk through a fire for this man. He pulled Tony closer, a sound coming out of his throat that was half strangled whimper, half desperate plea. He ran his hands down Tony’s back and they came to rest on Tony’s perfect ass again, drawn like steel to a magnet. “Want you, baby,” he whispered like a confession.

“Yeah?” Tony said, as if he didn’t _know_ , as if it surprised and delighted him every time, the way Bucky wanted him. He nuzzled along Bucky’s jaw to nip Bucky’s earlobe, his breath hot and shivery. “Any particular way you want me tonight, honey?”

Bucky’s eyes rolled up a little while he considered; the problem with options was always that his immediate answer was, “Every way. All at once.” He wanted to suck Tony’s cock, he wanted to open him up and fuck him. He wanted to have Tony mount him. The choices were overwhelming, staggering, beautiful and brilliant, and he sometimes wished he was some sort of science experiment and that he could have multiple orgasms and bring Tony to the same, shattering pleasure. In the end, it didn’t really matter, Tony felt so good, he was so loving and generous and -- oh, wait, there was an idea. “How’s your research going?”

Tony pulled up a little, to look at him, and there was an instant of confusion in his eyes before they cleared and he smiled, slow and knowing. “Pretty far along,” he said, and he sat up some more, smoothing his palms slowly up Bucky’s chest and stopping just short of his throat, thumbs resting lightly on Bucky’s collarbones. “You want to give that a try?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Bucky managed. As always, his heart started a little faster, like being on a rollercoaster and approaching the drop, the adrenaline spiked. He wasn’t sure it should have been possible to get harder, but _god_ , he felt like a fucking rock. “If you’re… you know, okay with it.”

Tony smiled wider. “I’d say, if I wasn’t. Though I want to try something a little less dangerous than actual choking. There’s some levels to pass through, you know? But I found some tricks that will hopefully give you that sensation without leaving you marked up or worse. Yeah?”

Bucky’s eyebrow went up. “Yeah?” He got his elbows under him, shifting a little to half-sit. He groaned as that shifted their position against each other, dragging his dick against Tony’s thigh.

“Yeah.” Tony climbed off to sit beside him. “Well, hopefully? We’ll try it, and if it’s not enough, you can tell me, okay?” He touched one finger to Bucky’s forehead and traced it down, the length of Bucky’s nose, over lips and chin, and stopped, gently resting just above Bucky’s Adam’s apple.

Tony talked him through the steps, using a lot of scientific language that probably meant something to Tony, and to various doctors at the emergency room, but mostly Bucky was listening to the instructions rather than the fancy medical words. The gist of it, he thought he could manage.

Bucky sat up, drew his knees up and Tony leaned on his legs like he was going to do sit-ups for gym class. He drew several deep, rapid breaths until his chest was aching, the way you’d do for a deep water dive. That made him a little dizzy, and when that started, he leaned back, inhaled, breathed out hard and did a sit-up, crunching all the air out of his chest. A few repetitions of that and the candlelight flickered in his vision, blurring.

His mouth and tongue were tingling, fingers and toes going numb. A muscle in his back tightened until he was arching away from it. Tony’s hand came ‘round his throat, the pressure like a benediction. Bucky collapsed backward onto the bed and Tony pressed a thumb to the big artery in his throat.

Bucky could count his heartbeats, like a drum. It echoed hollow in his ears, pulse pounding against his eyeballs. Waves of darkness, inevitable as the tide, flowed over him, each one taking just a little more of his sense of self with it. For a few seconds, he struggled with it, his body screaming for oxygen, and then panic receded and left a soft, gray cloud.

He tumbled, let the euphoria and numbness wrap him up.

When Tony’s mouth came down on him, brushing his tongue over Bucky’s lip, the tingling, tickling sensation increased, three, four times as intense and Bucky found himself gasping for breath, but each inhalation only made him dizzier and he realized that Tony was tapping that vein in his neck, prolonging the response.

Tony was talking, too, soft and sweet, his eyes on Bucky’s face as he whispered endearments and encouragement. “So gorgeous, baby, look as you, shh, just relax, I’m going to take care of you, I’ve got you...” Tony kissed him again, slower, teeth scraping lightly over Bucky’s lip.

Everything was floaty, like laying back in the water and just letting go. He had muscles, he knew that, but they weren’t really doing anything. With a great deal of effort, he opened his eyes, saw a blur of vaguely Tony-colored shapes, let his mouth curve into a smile. Everything was shining, lined with golden light that flickered and danced. Tony was there, surrounding and over and in, and around him. He let himself sink into it, cuddling the warmth and brilliance that was his husband, his love, his lover. “Wha?” he managed. He knew words, they were things that he knew, but they didn’t seem very important. Was Tony… was Tony -- oh. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’m okay.”

“That’s good, baby, you’re so good, so perfect,” Tony said, and he’d stopped tapping on Bucky’s neck, but his hand was curled gently, so gently, around Bucky’s throat, and it felt like... like home, like wanting, like belonging. Belonging to Tony, and that was exactly right.

Tony smiled at him and Bucky smiled helplessly back, and then Tony moved, too fast for Bucky’s lazy eyes to track. Tony’s hand was still on him, though, Tony hadn’t gone, he’d just... moved. Heat curled around Bucky’s nipple and he belated recognized it as Tony’s mouth, and just as he realized that, Tony was sucking, tongue and teeth flicking, and it was _electric_ , it was heat that bounced through his whole body.

An intensity of sensation, so much pleasure that it was almost agony, and if Bucky had had any control over his body at all, he might have been tempted to bat Tony away, make him stop all the delicious things he was doing, but he didn’t, and so Bucky could only lay there, moaning continuously and endure. It was bliss, it was ecstasy, but it was so much, almost too much, veering sharply into way too much for a few moments before ebbing back down.

He became fiercely aware of the way his erection throbbed and ached and craved and needed and he tried to raise a hand, push Tony down, down, where Bucky needed, god, _needed_. “Please,” he said, a whisper with no force behind it at all. Drawing a full breath was still difficult, his chest seemed compressed, like a very large cat was sitting on him or something. Bucky directed his hand to pat around, looking for the cat. He was laughing, he was aware, vaguely, a distant, faint giggle, and he found Tony’s head with his hand, stroking at the soft hair. “Nice kitty.” That got him giggling harder.

Tony laughed, and that sounded so nice that Bucky couldn’t help but laugh along. “You are so drunk on it,” Tony said, which was funny, too. Tony’s mouth pressed against Bucky’s hand where it was still trying to pet Tony’s hair, and then it left a line of kisses down Bucky’s stomach. “I love you,” Tony said, and licked a broad stripe up his cock before engulfing the head in hot wet bliss.

Bucky was shaking all over, trembling. Floating, but shaking. “Dying here,” Bucky managed to say. God, so, so good. He was burning up with it, like a match touched to paper. He found the blankets under him and his fingers flexed in them, grip not even strong enough to hold himself down and he writhed under Tony, squirming, unable to decide if he wanted to press into the sensation or get away. He was dying, Tony was killing him, the sensations were too much, too good and he was just going to ignite, burn up, and yet.

Yet.

Oh, god, that was so, so _good_. Sensation raced from nerve to nerve until every part of him was tingling with it. Everything coalesced into a single point of pleasure, right where Tony’s mouth was on him.

One of the things Bucky had always regretted about being a man was that his orgasm was usually so short; a few seconds of searing, blistering pleasure followed by utter and complete exhaustion, like throwing a tank. This time, he could feel it coming (Ha! Pun! And he started giggling again.) a mile away, watched it, like it was an actual, solid thing, emotion and pleasure given form, like ethereal wings and it flew toward him. Pleasure started in the tips of his toes and ran up his entire body until he was wracked with it, shivering and sweating and straining to grab hold of it. The feelings raced up his legs, across his groin and he knew that he was rolling his hips up, his dick was twitching, his balls were tight and pulled up, and… and… he arched up, mouth open, screaming and laughing and crying at the same time…

And…

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning - for our smut-averse readers, this continues the smut that started in chapter 6. For the rest of you - the actual breathplay from chapter 6 is done, but they talk about it some.

Bucky was laughing -- giggling, really, in short, breathless gasps. His whole body was squirming, though his hands seemed uncoordinated and weak, like he didn’t have full control over all his muscles. He tried, a little, to fuck up into Tony’s mouth, though his hips didn’t carry him very far.

It made Tony feel even more contemptuous of Pierce -- how had he had this and not felt compelled to be _worthy_ of it?

It was _gorgeous_ , the way Bucky’s whole body had just relaxed, dropping tension even Tony hadn’t realized he was carrying. Those uncoordinated movements, left unfinished more often than not, his voice growing more desperate by the moment. And the _trust_ , dear god. Bucky was willingly, even _eagerly_ , putting himself Tony’s hands, trusting Tony to keep him safe and make him feel good.

Tony pinned him down and sucked harder, tongue probing at the spots proven to drive Bucky wild.

Bucky flailed again, arched up, and screamed through his orgasm, and then went limp.

Tony swallowed and dragged his arm across his mouth and pulled himself up to look at Bucky’s face. “Baby, you okay?”

This was safer than most other breathplay techniques, but it still carried its hazards. Tony’s reading had been more than clear about that. But Bucky was breathing, shallow and steady, so that was one (minor but persistent) worry abated. But he seemed to have passed out completely. Tony brushed the hair back from his face and started mentally counting breaths.

Bucky wasn’t out long, maybe a couple of minutes, tops, and his eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times and his tongue came out to wet his lips, a dry, raspy sound. “I… uh --” Bucky let his eyes slip shut again, turning his head toward Tony and shifted a little, snuggling into the blankets. “I… uh… Tony?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m right here,” Tony said. He stroked his fingers through Bucky’s hair, down Bucky’s arm. “I’ve got you, honey. You okay?”

“Mmmm, yeah,” Bucky said. His eyes flickered open again. “Was… was there a cat?” He sounded befuddled, a little confused, and a little chagrined, the way Tony sometimes had after a blackout drunk when he was quite sure that he’d danced on a table or something equally cliche and ridiculous.

“No, no cats,” Tony said. “Though you called me one, so maybe that’s what you’re thinking of.” He leaned in to kiss Bucky gently. “You want some water, baby?”

Bucky appeared to consider that for a long moment, then ran a hand through Tony’s hair. “Nice kitty,” he said, grinning a little dopey. “Yeah, water, water is good.”

Tony snorted, but brought him a glass of water from the bathroom tap. “Here, sit up a little.” He worked his arm under Bucky’s shoulders and helped him sit up before handing over the glass.

Bucky took tiny sips, panting between them, like his chest hadn’t yet recovered. “Wow,” he managed, after he finished off the glass, tipping it all the way up to capture every drop. “Wow. Tony, oh, god, wow.”

“I’m assuming that’s not for the water,” Tony said, smiling a little. “It was okay?”

“Understatement,” Bucky affirmed. He put the empty glass aside and didn’t seem to notice when it rolled off the bed onto the floor. He cupped Tony’s face in both hands. “Look at you, you… yeah, wow, I…” Bucky stuck his tongue out. “Words aren’t so good right now.”

“That’s okay,” Tony said. He slid closer, and nuzzled in for a soft kiss. “Glad it worked for you.” He grinned. “You were so drunk on it. It was adorable.”

Bucky checked himself over, as if making sure all his pieces and parts were still in their proper place and in working order and then presented Tony with a crinkled forehead and a question. “What about you?”

“What about me, honey?” Tony hadn’t really been paying attention to his own arousal; taking care of Bucky had seemed far more important. Bucky’s bright joy was far more satisfying than any orgasm.

“You, uh… didn’t.” There was a faint twitch to Bucky’s mouth and his eyes darted down to Tony’s groin and back up to his face. There was a flicker of something across his face and that wrinkle in his forehead threatened to become a _crevice_ before he got his expression under control.

Tony smoothed his thumb across Bucky’s forehead. “I’m okay,” he said. “Just wanted to make you feel good.”

Bucky huffed. “I know you’re _okay_ ,” he said, “as you keep tellin’ me, ain’t nobody ever died of blue balls, but, you know, it’s kinda my goal, too.” He leaned in and nuzzled at Tony’s neck, light, tongue flicking over the skin. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous.”

“Mmm.” Tony tipped his head back and worked his fingers into Bucky’s hair. “Wasn’t thinking about it, really, but I’m definitely not going to tell you to stop.” It wasn’t even an exaggeration -- if Bucky had been too worn out to do any more, Tony would’ve been perfectly content. But Bucky knew Tony’s body maybe better than Tony himself did, and each teasing flick of his tongue was making Tony’s cock a little more insistent about wanting some attention.

“You know,” he said, soft in Tony’s ear, “there’s kinda a side benefit to what we just did.” He let his fingers drift down Tony’s chest and made small, teasing circles along Tony’s sides and stomach, enough to get his muscles twitching.

Those light, almost ticklish touches were making it hard to focus on anything as trivial as words. “Uh, _oh_ , mm... What... benefit?” Did it even _need_ another benefit?

Bucky’s hand wandered further south, brushing over Tony’s thighs and exploring the line of his hipbone. “Might even consider it the _primary_ benefit,” he said, a little smug. “Gets me all relaxed. Really, _really_ relaxed. You won’t need t’ prep me.”

It took a minute for that to make sense, and Tony was going to blame that delay on the extremely distracting things Bucky’s hands were doing to his skin. And on the fact that Tony usually bottomed. When the implications registered, he jerked half upright in surprise. “What, seriously?” That hadn’t been in the reading. Why hadn’t that been in the reading?

“Mmmmhmmm,” Bucky said. He continued those teasing touches, around Tony’s back now that he was sitting, fingers drifting along the ticklish edges of his ribs, which frequently had the tendency to make Tony press closer to escape, which was the opposite of helpful to his concentration. “You can just lube us both up, babydoll. Or--” and his hand drifted around Tony’s waist. He ran one finger up Tony’s rapidly-hardening shaft. “-- I could do it, if you wanted. Let you lay back an’ I’ll ride you. Hmmm? Or you want me on my back, so I can lock my legs around your hips?”

Oh _god_. All of the above, yes, every bit of it. His whole body felt like it was one huge shiver of anticipation, now. “Oh my god I married a _menace_ ,” he croaked, and then had to try to suppress a smile at Bucky’s laugh. “I want, I want...” He wanted to be able to _think_ for a second, but he doubted Bucky was going to stop touching him long enough for that. “You think you’re steady enough to ride me?” Tony liked riding; it was easier to control depth and angle that way.

Bucky licked his way down Tony’s throat, finger never stopping that tantalizing, barely-there tracing. “I can keep my seat,” he said, nudging until Tony was flat on his back. He scraped his teeth along Tony’s ribs, tongue flicking out to soften the nips. “For a little bit of trail-blazing.” He nosed along Tony’s chest, breath a warm breeze, there and gone again. He ghosted down to that point of Tony’s hip and sealed his mouth over the skin; Tony had a near-permanent hickey there and as such, the skin was always a little more sensitized.

Tony arched into it, already feeling flushed and warm, breath catching with each press of Bucky’s tongue and drag of Bucky’s teeth over the bruise. “Honey...” Bucky glanced up at him, eyes wide and dark in the candlelight, the golden glow making everything seem just a little unreal, just a little more beautiful than real life... and Bucky was the most beautiful man Tony knew in real life, already.

Bucky’s smile gleamed, a quick flash of brilliant white teeth. “I got you, Tony. You took care of me, I just wanna keep the scales somewhere close to even. You do so much for me, baby.” Which was just nonsense, because Tony knew he’d started so far down the hole that digging out wasn’t even possible anymore. But before he could protest or counter Bucky’s statement, Bucky had the lube in hand. He stroked Tony over with a slick hand, almost clinical, impersonal, except for the mischievous little glint in his eyes that told Tony he knew exactly what sort of effect he was having.

“Bucky,” he breathed. “God, you’re so... so beautiful, so good to me. I love you so much.” He couldn’t resist; he half-sat again, catching Bucky around the neck with one hand and tugging him down for a kiss, open-mouthed and messy with wanting, with _need_. “Mine,” he said, because it still didn’t seem quite real, that he’d gotten so lucky.

“No one else even compares,” Bucky said, like a promise. More lube on Tony, and then Bucky slid his fingers into his own hole, two without so much as a grunt of effort, enough to slick himself. He straddled Tony’s thighs, arched up and twisted, spreading his cheeks. The first few motions were straight up tease; Bucky being wicked and heartless just because he could; letting Tony stroke against Bucky’s cleft. Bucky hummed, rocking his whole body in a ripple.  

Tony whined and tried to arch up into it, but Bucky was enjoying the tease, staying just out of reach. “So mean,” Tony tried, pouting. “Come on, baby, I need you, _please_.”

“I’m just terrible,” Bucky agreed. He reached behind him and steadied Tony’s dick, fingers playing over the head, tracing the ridge. He lifted up and situated himself, one hand on the bed for balance, the other being downright evil to Tony’s cock, letting him slide, brushing his hole over Tony’s eager crown, just enough for the rim to catch and then pulling away again.

Tony squirmed and groaned. “Baby, please, want you, want you so bad...” Ug, Bucky could be downright cruel when he was in a mood to tease. Tony kind of loved it.

_Oh, god_. Bucky hadn’t been kidding or exaggerating about how relaxed he was. He planted his hands on Tony’s chest, pinning Tony to the bed, and slid down, taking all of Tony in one long, exquisite slide. He exhaled, shifted his hips a few times, testing his capacity. He arched back a little, stomach flexing, showing off his abs. Bucky clenched, muscles squeezing down on Tony. Bucky moved, not back and forth like Tony expected, but a wide, teasing, torturous circle, like he was rolling a hula-hoop.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Tony gasped. He curled his hands around Bucky’s hips and fought the urge to let his eyes roll back in his head with how _good_ it felt. “Honey, _god_ , you feel good, how the _hell_...” He tried rocking his hips up in time with that roll of Bucky’s, seeking the motion that felt best, chasing the heat of that fire.

Bucky leaned back, slow, stretching his arms over his head until he settled with one arm bent around the other, like he was trying to pop his shoulder joint. He turned his head to the side, putting himself entirely on display for Tony, each muscle outlined with candlelight. Tony had gotten a lap dance once from a stripper; the way Bucky moved was like that, sinuous and sensual. Combined with the projected shy, the way he bit his lip and didn’t meet Tony’s eyes was the _best_ combination of innocent/wanton. He didn’t raise up, or stroke Tony, everything happened in tiny little movements. Tony was sheathed in Bucky’s heat, engulfed by it.

Tony had to close his eyes for a moment, or he wasn’t going to last much longer, and dear god, he wanted this to last. When he looked back up, Bucky’s lips were curved, just a little, that insufferable smug smile that meant he knew _exactly_ what he was doing to Tony. Tony didn’t even care. “You,” he sighed. “You’re amazing. How did I get so lucky?” He slid his hands over Bucky’s thighs and hips, whatever he could reach, hungry for everything that Bucky would give him. “God, I love you.”

Bucky gave him a coy glance, winked. “I know,” he said. The jolt of laughter that elicited brought Tony back down from the edge, let Bucky continue to rock and sway, riding Tony’s dick like he’d been made particularly for that. Bucky liked to edge Tony, when he could, but his own driving need often derailed those efforts, sent Bucky into a rut until they were both wrung out and panting, but now… now, he didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry, loving Tony with easy, graceful movements, changing it up just enough that Tony couldn’t quite fall into complacency, couldn’t quite rub it out, enough that he was just wound and wound up until his whole body was shaking.

Tony had lost track of when he’d started begging and pleading; it never actually made Bucky move any faster, but Tony couldn’t hold it back, not without something in his mouth to keep him quiet. Didn’t matter; Bucky seemed to enjoy it, that evidence of Tony’s desperation. He let the words fall from his lips, let his body continue its futile chase of sensation that Bucky was all too expert in controlling, let himself fall into that sweet and fuzzy mental space where he gave himself up to Bucky’s hands and mouth and body, trusting that Bucky would see him through.

Somewhere in there, Tony realized that not only was Bucky sporting another erection, but that he’d taken himself in hand and was teasing himself, stroking, thumbing over the head, his wrist doing that little twisty thing that he used to torment Tony. “Mmmm,” he sighed into it, body shifted and accepting Tony’s thrusts, matching them, meeting it with equal heat and rapidly increasing urgency. “Tony… Tony…” Bucky groaned, his whole body shivering, a delicious quiver.

“Oh god, baby, Bucky, honey, yes,” Tony panted. He put his own hand over Bucky’s, sliding his hand over Bucky’s cock, hard and silky-smooth and hot. He thrust up, hard, as Bucky came down, curling his hips as much as he could, seeking the angle that would drive Bucky over the edge right along with him. “Come on, Bucky, give it to me, now, now, I need it, need _you_...”

“Oh, oh,” Bucky babbled a little, hair a tangled mess over his face as he tossed his head from side to side, seeking, and then his cock twitched under Tony’s hand. “There, there, _there_ , Tony, oh, holy… _christ_.” He arched backward until Tony was amazed with his ability to remain upright, the money shot spurting like a fountain, ropes of it splattering over the headboard, Tony’s chest, in his hair. He spasmed, clenching down hard on Tony’s cock.

No way could Tony hold on even a minute longer, not after that, not with Bucky wringing it out of him, squeezing so tight it almost hurt. He whined through his teeth, back arching of its own volition, and threw his head back with a shout as his whole field of vision whited out, flashfire racing through his veins to the very tips of his fingers and toes and then rebounding to settle in his groin. “Bucky,” he gasped, groping blindly for his husband. “Baby, god... love you.”

Bucky practically fell on him, heedless of the mess, kissing Tony frantically, licking at his mouth like he was taking the icing off a cupcake. “Love you, love you, too, baby, oh, god.” Bucky was wrecked, fingers shaking as he petted every inch of Tony’s skin he could find. It took a few minutes,Tony rubbing small circles on his back, patting his hip, for Bucky to calm at all, and he finally ended up shivering in Tony’s arms, making small, hitching moans as he worked through what had to be a hell of a set of aftershocks.

Tony kept petting and soothing him, bemused and just a little bit smug at Bucky’s overstimulated state. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had gotten worked up so hard, but it didn’t happen often. Tony coaxed him off, to roll onto the bed and curl into Tony’s arms, where he clung almost desperately. Tony brushed his hair back off his forehead and kissed him gently, and slowly, the shuddering subsided a little. “You doing okay, honey?”

Bucky twisted and tucked his face into the dark hollow of Tony’s throat. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Just… yeah. Just twitchy.”

“Okay,” Tony said. He stroked lightly down Bucky’s arm, still a touch breathless, himself, if not quite so on-edge. “We can just cuddle for a bit.”

Bucky raised himself up on one elbow to give Tony an utterly exasperated look. “Sarcastic asshole,” he accused, fondly, then stuck his tongue in Tony’s ear and gave him an utterly, fantastically unnecessary raspberry.

“Hey! What was that for?!” Tony wiped at the spit all over his ear. “Gross.”

Bucky laughed, light, and cuddled back against Tony’s chest. “You deserve it,” he said, sounding a little sleepy. Tony was pretty sure he did not, in any manner, deserve it -- he really hadn’t been trying to be sarcastic (for a change). But Bucky was practically purring like a kitten, so there really wasn’t any point in arguing it further.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Billie held up the flier; it was an eye-searing pink, with four different sizes of type, and -- Tony winced -- _multiple_ fonts, including _comic sans_ , may the heavens preserve him. The biggest of these screamed “Get your GAME on!” A clip-art figure, standing with one foot propped up on a ball, was exactly in the center of the page and the rest of the print was arranged around it. The whole thing was an affront to effective advertising design.

“Help me out, kiddo,” he said. “What am I looking at?”

Billie’s eye-roll and exasperated sigh were two things she got a lot of practice with. She could probably earn a scholarship on sarcasm alone. “Summer Soccer camp,” she said. “Intermediate level, since I’m eight, now.” She beamed at him, expectantly.

Tony blinked at the flier, and then at Billie. And then at the flier some more. “Soccer? Really?”

She nodded, bobbing her head rapidly up and down enough that it was a wonder she wasn’t dizzy. “Uh-huh,” she said.

“In the... summer.” He looked at the flier again, which made his head hurt, and then looked back at Billie. “Outdoors. In the heat that you have been complaining about, nonstop, for a month.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, a little more hesitantly. “But… but… Kendra’s doin’ it, an’, an’ Ororo, an’...” She pulled herself up very straight. “Miss Sarah says if Kendra wants t’ be on the team in th’ fall, she needs a headstart, ‘cause she skipped last year’s season, an’ I never played soccer at all, ‘cept at recess.”

Soccer, dear _god_. Tony was _literally_ turning into a soccer mom. He pinched at the bridge of his nose and squinted at the garish flier once more, hoping for the dates to conflict with-- Nope, the camp ended a full week before Billie’s scheduled trip with her father.

Damn. Looked like he was, in fact, going to become a soccer mom. “I’ll make you a deal,” he told her.

“Um, can I hear it first?” Well, Tony couldn’t say she wasn’t a fast learner.

“If we’re doing this, then we’re doing it; there’s no backing out just because it’s hard or hot or any other reason short of a doctor says you can’t go anymore.” It was only a two-week camp, but Billie had been known to throw in the towel on things after a disheartening first attempt.

Billie appeared to consider it. “Okay, that’s fair.” She looked down at the flier again and then back up to Tony. “So, that’s a yes? ‘Cause I need shoes. An’... an’ shin guards. An’ special socks. There’s a list. And the fee. Miss Sarah was complainin’ about the fee.”

“That’s a yes, we’ll go into town tomorrow for the equipment and stuff and to pay the fee.” Technically, he should probably run the whole thing by Bucky first, but he couldn’t imagine Bucky having an objection to kiddie soccer. The worst of it was going to be the soccer mom jokes. Tony could already feel them hovering around his head.

“Awesome!” Billie wasn’t always a very physically affectionate kid; her therapist had said a few times that it might take her a while to get back to that sort of thing, but she practically jumped on Tony, hugging him around the waist, little face pressed to his stomach. “Thank you, Uncle Tony.”

It warmed him, as it always did. He hugged her back. “You’re welcome, buttercup.” He handed her the eye-searing flier. “Here, you hold on to that -- don’t lose it, it’s got the list and stuff -- but you should definitely go show Uncle Bucky and Uncle Steve, I’m sure they’ll be excited for you.” Also, if Tony was going to be subjected to that horrible thing, he wasn’t going to be the only one.

Billie nodded again and ran out the front door and down the stairs, yelling (oh god) _olé, olé, olé_ at the top of her lungs. Kendra and Sam’s sister must really be into soccer. Good lord.

It wasn’t getting the gear that was problematic; all the local shoe stores carried soccer cleats for tiny little feet, and the sports shop (Dick’s, and Tony had a hard time keeping his dick-and-balls jokes to himself while they were there) carried the socks and shin guards and little league regulation sized soccer balls (in a dozen different colors, so of course Billie’s was pink, because Billie) and even tee-shirts and shorts to complete the look. Billie voiced some disappointment when they couldn’t find a sport-strap for her glasses in any color other than black and would have refused to wear it, except Bucky was very firm on the “if you break your glasses during soccer when they fall off your face, you will earn the money to replace them” line, and when Tony showed her the receipt for her glasses (with Strawberry Shortcake on the earpieces) she decided that an ugly strap was the lesser of two evils.

Nor was it the schedule, although Tony would have preferred _not_ having to get up at 7:30 every other day during the summer (he and Bucky worked out a rotation) to drive into Virginia Beach. And when Mrs. Casper asked if they could drive Kendra in with them, and Mrs. Casper would pick the girls up half the time, Tony wondered how much of Billie’s enthusiasm came from the sport and how much came from the Casper family pushing it at her.

It wasn’t even the camp itself; unlike some of the other temporary interests Billie had latched onto and given up relatively quickly, she was actually damned good at soccer, learning it faster than she’d picked up anything else. (Tony might have preferred her to be less good, actually, since she turned out to be a really aggressive player and her knees and elbows and chin and cheek were all decorated with grass stains and scabs by the middle of the first week, because when she went for a goal, everyone in her way better move.)

What did turn out to be an unexpected problem was… the women.

The actual, honest-to-god soccer _moms_ who brought their kids to camp at the same time Tony did. Many of them were for the same camp, some had older or younger kids, and some were there for a different sport entirely, but it didn’t matter; they all used the same parking lot. And the instant they spotted Tony walking along the sidewalk with Billie at his side, pink soccer ball tucked under his arm, it... did something to them and drove them all insane and made them veer in his direction to hit on him. Even the married ones.

Maybe even _especially_ the married ones.

Tony was pretty good at a polite no -- he’d been flirted with a surprising amount at Dockside -- but unlike pretty much anyone else who’d ever hit on him before, these women were _tenacious_. His polite excuses barely made a dent, and his more pointed comments about _being married_ just made them more determined. He carefully dropped a reference to _my husband_ once, hoping that if they thought he was gay, they’d get the message, but apparently that was just waving a red flag, Jesus _Christ_.

Bucky had no idea what he was talking about.

The worst offender of the lot was Sunset Bain, who had not one, but three children of various ages who were all in the camps. She had started out subtle.

She was gorgeous. She wore shoes that should have never graced a soccer field that amplified her legs and gave her ass a perky little twitch that was hard not to watch. She’d obviously been practicing. She was also the snack coordinator, which gave her an excuse to talk with Tony for entirely longer than the few minutes dropping Billie off should have taken. She was vivacious, articulate, and polished, which meant Tony didn’t actually realize how close she was standing until he happened to glance down and realized her low-cut blouse gave him a view straight down to her fucking navel. And she was not wearing a bra.

He took a step back. She took a step forward. He folded his arms. She put a hand on his bicep, and then complimented him on his muscle. He stopped bothering to smile politely. She smiled wider and spoke breathlessly, leaning conspiratorially close.

“Well, if you need anything, anything at all,” she said, “you just give me a call. I’ve been doing these camps for a couple years now, so I’m happy to help.” And she reached around him to slip a card with her number on it into his back pocket. Then she patted his ass and walked away. Well, _walked_ isn’t what she did. She had a killer stride, the kind that challenged. The kind of walk that wondered, “Are you man enough to be my man?”

He didn’t even want her, but it still took him a minute to peel his gaze off her backside and remember exactly where he was and where he was going.

Tony was almost -- _almost_ \-- not surprised when Billie came home the next day with an invitation to a pool party with Bryan Bain. “Bryan’s mommy says you can come, too, if you want, Uncle Tony, or you c’n just pick me up at their place, after, or she can drop me off, whatever works, if, if, if I c’n go?”

No way in hell was Tony going to spend an hour or more in a private location with Sunset Bain while _either_ of them was wearing a swimsuit. Nope, no, _nyet_. “I can’t go,” he told Billie, “because I need to be here at the restaurant for lunch. But you can go, if you want. We’ll figure out the pickup. Did they invite Kendra and Ororo, too?”

Billie held up one hand. “Kendra, an’, an’ Kitty Pryde, an’ Bobby Drake, an’... the people Bryan likes. He and ‘Roro don’t get along. And a few fr’m his brother ‘n sister’s camps, too.” She gave Tony an absolutely see-through ingenuous look. “Why don’t _I_ have a brother ‘n sister?”

Tony snorted. “Because neither Uncle Bucky nor I have the necessary equipment. But that sounds fun,” he continued before she could pursue that line of questioning. “Make sure to put your swimsuit and towel up with your soccer stuff so we don’t forget it tomorrow.”

Billie gave a little jump and whooped before running off to her room singing, “Pool party, pool party.” Ulterior motives aside, if Sunset Bain really was going to be hosting a pool party for nearly a dozen kids twelve and under, Tony had to hand it to her. That was putting some _effort_ into the flirt-game.

Tony wasn’t about to set foot in her house even long enough to pick Billie up, either -- the woman would find some excuse to keep him there. He wouldn’t put it past her to “accidentally” push him in the pool so he had to change clothes, either. So he accepted her offer to drop Billie off afterward. Though that made him feel slightly squirmy, too, letting her know where _he_ lived. But it wasn’t like Dockside wasn’t a public location already, so he swallowed that misgiving. It was the lesser of evils.

He was manning the cash register, ringing up the last of the late lunch crowd, when they came in that afternoon. Tony nearly swallowed his tongue -- Billie burst through the main doors with her usual exuberance, smelling strongly of chlorine but looking excited enough to burst, and just after her came Sunset, still dressed in a bikini with a sarong wrap around her waist that was gauzy enough that it hid precisely _nothing_ of her long, slender legs. And heels, because of course.

How the hell had she gone through three pregnancies and still looked like that? Tony would suspect adoption except that the middle kid, whose name he couldn’t remember, was practically her clone. Maybe that was it. Cloning. Anything was possible, Tony supposed. Except for those breasts and the way they seemed to levitate in place. Those were just _not possible_.

Sunset took off her sunglasses and hung the earpiece on the tiny strap that held the top of her bikini together, seriously testing the structural integrity. She then looked around (like she hadn’t noticed Tony the second she’d walked in) and slowly smiled. “Tony,” she said, voice dripping with delight, “how good to see you _again_.” She sauntered over and caught the gaze of more than half the customers still in the building (the male half, and more than a few of the women, although some of them were not looking impressed so much as annoyed) to track her progress. She strode at Tony like love was a battlefield and she was Pat Benetar. It kinda made him want to retreat, honestly.

Tony gave her his professional smile and tried not to show how unsettled he felt. Surely she wouldn’t try anything here, in front of all the customers and the waitstaff? He tried a telepathic call to Bucky to come out of the office for a look around. “Thanks for giving Billie a ride home, Mrs. Bain,” he said. “Billie, did you remember to thank Mrs. Bain for having you over?” He was a coward for using an eight-year-old as his shield, and he didn’t even care.

“Uh-huh,” Billie said. “An’ Bryan for inviting me, an’ even Bryan’s sister, Michelle. She made cupcakes with little sharks on ‘em!”

“She’s a delightful child,” Sunset said, leaning forward and putting her hand on Tony’s arm. “Very well behaved. You’ve done a wonderful job, parenting. It’s such a rewarding calling, don’t you agree, having little ones. But sometimes, a heavy responsibility. And _lonely_.”

“Well, we’ve only had her for a few months,” Tony said, ruffling Billie’s hair affectionately, “so most of the credit goes to her mom. But you’re right about the responsibility.” He didn’t address her claim of loneliness. _He_ wasn’t lonely.

Scott, who had come onto the floor, broom in hand, stopped dead, the handle slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor loudly. Sunset jerked in surprise, her glasses swinging from that strap and very nearly pulling the top down entirely. Scott’s gaze flickered from Sunset’s well-rounded posterior, down to her shoes, and then up, to where her hand rested on Tony’s arm again. He blinked, just once, then got his foot under the broomhandle and kicked it up into the air, catching hold of it. “Sorry,” he said, grinning that ridiculous, puppy-sheepish smile of his, and started sweeping, although he kept sneaking peeks at Sunset while he worked.

“Well, Bryan just _adores_ her, so, I’m sure I’ll see you again, soon. Call, if you need _any_ thing. Anything at all.” Her smile was still firmly in place, her eyes issuing all sorts of invitations, but there was something in the set of her jaw that gave away her annoyance. She leaned in, quick, and brushed her mouth over Tony’s cheek. “Ta, darling.” And there she went, again, legs and ass on full display as she headed out the door.

Tony waited until she’d rounded the corner into the parking lot, then leaned against the counter and blew out his breath. He pulled himself together enough to send Billie back into the kitchen for a snack and to deal with a departing pair of customers, and the routine of that settled him some. Still, he wondered if he could somehow talk Bucky into doing the rest of the drop-offs.

“Hey, boss,” Scott said, as he finished the floor and swept behind the cashier. “Um. Don’t want to mention it, really, but. Um.” He handed Tony a napkin. “You’ve got lipstick on your cheek. I mean, nothing happened, there was nothing, well, maybe there was a little something happening there. I don’t know what she was doing, except, you know, grabbing you, and I was a little surprised, myself there. That is… um. Anyway. I’ve got… things. Things to do. So do you. Things to do, I mean. Or, I don’t know. She’s not a thing. Are you doing her? Because if you are, am I supposed to not know about it?”

Tony paused in the middle of wiping his face off to stare at Scott. “Am I... Oh my god, _no_ ,” he managed. “Seriously, I am _married_ and _happy_ and she is some kind of _land-dwelling shark_.”

“Yeah, she kinda looks like she wants to take a bite out of you,” Scott said. “A great big bite. Slowly. I bet she likes to play with her food, too. Watch out, here she comes, the maneater.” Scott sighed. “Bet she’s married, too. Big old house, husband who’s gone all the time. Only married her because of how she looks. Feels under-appreciated. Bored. Lonely. You’re a challenge… like an extra hard game of sudoku.”

Scott was... probably right. Ew. “Unwinnable,” Tony said firmly. “She does not have enough cheat codes. You want her? You can have her.”

Scott gave him a very flat look. “Yeah, sure. _That’s_ gonna work out well. There’s somethin’ about you, boss, the way you move, combined with walkin’ around with a little girl at your side that obviously adores you. It’s like _catnip_ for these soccer moms. Even if I could use Cassie to lure that one out, how long you think it’d be before someone twigged to th’ idea that I could be Don Juaning my way into a rich lady’s house for ulterior motives? No. Goin’ straight’s what I said I was gonna do, and that means not even _lookin’_ crooked.”

Tony was torn between sympathy and a serious case of “methinks he doth protest too much,” so he just nodded, and pulled a face. “Guess that means I have to keep dealing with her. Damn. I swear, if Billie wants to keep this up, I’m going to make Nat take her to practice.”

Scott nodded, clapped him on the shoulder, and got back to sweeping the floor. “Oh, and… you smell like her perfume, boss.”

Great. Just great. How the fuck had she managed that? She’d been in the restaurant for _two minutes_. Tony was beginning to suspect some kind of supernatural agency.

Bucky still thought he was exaggerating.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The determined pursuit of soccer dads by certain soccer moms has been experienced first-hand by tisfan's spouse, despite the fact that he is not even a little bit single. Sometimes despite the fact that tisfan was literally FIVE FEET AWAY.
> 
> For those of you who know her in other incarnations, we'd like to assure you that there's nothing sinister about this version of Sunset Bain aside from her alleycat morals.


	9. Chapter 9

Laundry was one of Bucky’s least favorite chores. He had a washing machine. He had a dryer. There really shouldn’t have been any reason why a folding machine shouldn’t exist. An attack of the Jans, the addition of another person to the household, and Tony’s goddamn mother on top of that, and suddenly they all had more clothes than any eight people needed.

Which meant, because Bucky hated the laundry so much, by the time he actually did it (seriously, he could go almost three full weeks now before he ran out of clothes to wear and sometimes he just did socks and underwear to get through another two before he had to buckle down and tackle Mt. Washmore) there was so much that it was an all-day task.

Bucky stripped off their bed and then dumped all the laundry onto the mattress and started sorting it. Billie came in with her clothes, dropping spare socks onto the carpet in the hallway like Hansel and Gretel, scattering crumbs in the forest, threw them in his pile and ran off before Bucky could add any more chores to her list oh, my god, Uncle Bucky…

Darks. Lights. Jeans. Sheets in one pile, along with towels. Emptying pockets, because it had taken exactly one incident with one of Billie’s pockets having a couple of crayons that got washed (not a problem) and dried (BIG problem) for Bucky to not want to do that again. At least when Bucky left something in his pockets, it was just his knife. Or sometimes a tube of chapstick and the laundry was a little more minty-fresh than normal. Billie… Billie left legos in her pockets. Crayons. Spools of thread (why?) and one time several chunks of mulch (really, WHY?). He was absent-mindedly going through Tony’s pockets when his fingers touched a piece of paper.

He pulled it out and --

 _Sunset Bain_  
_Posh Consultant_  
_Isn’t it time to take care of you?_

A business card for a beauty consultant? Okay, whatever -- Bucky went to toss it in Tony’s pile of random crap when he noticed the smear of red on the back. He flipped it over.

 _Call me, Tiger. Rowr!_ Handwritten in glitter-gold pen on the back, with a lipstick print and -- he brought the card up to his nose -- just a hint of perfume.

 _Familiar_ perfume.

Tony had smelled like this exact same perfume a couple of times now, coming home from soccer camp.

An unpleasant twist of nerves spiraled through his lower intestine.

Bucky found himself sitting on the edge of their bed, staring at the card in his hand, like it was going to tell him secrets.

Well, it wasn’t like Tony hadn’t tried to tell him, Bucky reasoned with himself. That none -- really, none -- of the soccer moms had so much as noticed Bucky was just. Well, that was normal, really. He was used to being ignored; God knew when Steve had hit his growth spurt, Bucky had spent half his time being cockblocked by someone who didn’t even want what was being offered. Infuriating as that had been, Bucky was used to being outshone. Being invisible.

And Tony was beautiful, there was absolutely no doubt about that. Charming. Smart. Sophisticated, when he wanted to be, and absolutely _wicked_ when he didn’t want to be sophisticated. Funny. There was a lot there to find attractive about Tony Stark-Barnes.

_Except that he’s mine._

That little voice was very angry and a little bit hurt. How dare some… some _chippy_ give Tony her number with a kiss on it?

 _How dare Tony_ take _it?_

“Oh, come on,” Bucky protested to his brain. It’s not like Tony _hadn’t_ told him. And it’s certainly not like Tony wasn’t being more than reasonable about Scott, whose flirting sometimes ventured into the uncomfortable territory of drunk party-date.

 _If you ask him about it, he’s going to think you don’t trust him. (You slip up, just_ once _, someday down the road, and he’s in the wind again...)_

Bucky threw the card onto Tony’s bedside table. He ran both hands through his hair, scrubbing it away from his face with an exasperated exclamation. “Aaaaugh.”

“Sort the laundry, Barnes,” he told himself. “Nothing’s going on.”

It’s not like Tony hadn’t been confronted, over and over again, with Bucky’s exes. Thor and Alex and fucking Scott, and they’d run into a few of Bucky’s one-night stands from time to time. Tony was even pretty good friends with Jim Morita, although he wasn’t sure Tony knew that they’d had sex a few times, fucking around when they were younger. Tony’s exploits were not, perhaps, as legendary as Thor’s, but only because Bucky didn’t know much about them. Tony brushed them off with a “yeah, not memorable” hand wave, but Bucky suspected that Tony’s number was a lot higher than Bucky’s was. Not that it mattered.

 _It didn’t matter._ Yeah, try to convince yourself of that, sweetheart, let me know how it goes.

Laundry.

Bucky had damn laundry to do.

He wasn’t jealous. (Yes, he was.) He wasn’t suspicious. (Yeah, you keep lying, see where it gets you.) And if he was going to watch, really, really closely when Tony went to bed and saw that business card… _Isn’t it time to take care of you?_ (Was she _taking care_ of Tony?) Well, Bucky couldn’t be blamed for that.

Could he?

Tony _was_ bisexual. He’d told Bucky that within the first ten minutes of their meeting, although it hadn’t even occurred to Bucky as an issue. He remembered something Rumlow had said to him once (what the fuck was he doing thinking about Brock right now? Brain, seriously. Stop.) “They don’t tell you, when you get your gay card, that breasts are off the table. I mean, breasts are great. Every once in a while, I gotta sleep with a woman and double check.”

Did Tony need to double check? Did he _miss_ sleeping with women? There were things Bucky just could not do for Tony. Things Tony might need that… that Bucky didn’t have. He groaned again.

He sort of hated himself for it, but when Bucky was putting the new bedsheets on, he ended up arranging the card on Tony’s table, until it sort of looked accidentally (maybe) like he’d flipped it onto the table and it blocked a bit of the alarm clock. So Tony couldn’t miss it.

Bucky tried not to watch too closely when they went to bed that night, but he had no idea whether he was at all successful.

Tony threw his t-shirt in the direction of the freshly-emptied laundry hamper, then fished his phone out of his pocket and grabbed the charger cord off the table to plug it in. Bucky’s whole body felt like it was quivering with tension. Tony spotted the card and picked it up.

“Ug, I forgot she did that,” he complained. He turned to brandish it at Bucky. “I told you she was a menace. Who _does_ that?” He made a face and dropped the card into the wastebasket, then went back to stripping out of his clothes.

Bucky’s chest froze. There was air, he knew it, all around him, but it was _bad_ air. Too heavy, too cold, and definitely not healthy. “So am I,” he said, really, really softly, not sure if he wanted Tony to hear him or not.

Whether he wanted it or not, he’d been heard, because Tony looked around with a faint, teasing smile. “Yeah, but you’re sexy when you’re menacing.”

Well, that told him almost exactly _nothing_ useful. Tony didn’t need to keep the card if he’d put her number in his phone. Why keep a lipstick kiss if he’d gotten a real one? Was she a menace, the same way Tony accused Bucky of being one? No, brain, _stop_. “So, she’s not sexy, then?” Keep it light, Barnes, keep it casual.

Tony shrugged. “I mean, objectively, sure. You’ve seen her, right? But that whole maneater won’t-take-no thing she’s got going on is just... _ug_ , what a turnoff. There’s something about a soccer field that makes those moms’ brains just stop working, I swear to god, I don’t know why you can’t see it.” He was still smiling, joking around.

Bucky sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was… sort of relieved. A little. _Turn-off_ was a good word, he was okay with that. Didn’t quite resolve the other question; there wasn’t a specific other woman ( _Yet_. Probably. Maybe. STOP IT.) but... “Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” Tony threw his jeans at the chair where they dropped clothes they were going to wear again. They hit the side and flopped onto the floor instead. Tony grumbled and stalked over to pick them up.

“Women,” Bucky said. Honesty. They were doing that, right? Communication. That was a thing, and it didn’t fucking matter how much it hurt just to say it outloud, it couldn’t possibly be worse than worrying about it all the time. Jesus fucking Christ. Bucky had never so much as kissed a woman. (It didn’t count, that one time that Peggy Carter had laid one on him trying to make Steve jealous. It had totally worked for her, and Bucky had just been hideously embarrassed.)

Tony turned around to look at him, just _look_ , for an uncomfortably long moment. “Are you okay, baby?”

“It was… it was unexpected, finding that in your pocket,” Bucky admitted. God, he felt like a shit. Tony’s ex had been fucking controlling and untrusting and petty and kept Tony cut off from everyone else, and if Bucky reminded him of that... ( _just once… and he’s in the wind_ ) “And… you’re not the first bisexual I’ve, you know, had a relationship with, but he was pretty honest that he _did_ miss women, and I… we haven’t talked about it, and my brain just went… wrong places. Probably. I’m sorry, I… I know it’s not fair.”

Tony made a face. “You need to have a talk with your brain,” he said, “if it’s trying to tell you that I’d want _Sunset Bain_. It’s been... Christ, more than ten years since the last time I slept with a woman. If I missed it that much, I’m pretty sure it would’ve come up before this.”

“I have been talking with my brain,” Bucky protested. “I’ve never slept with a woman, I don’t know anything about it. Well, except Jan, but that totally does not count as anything, aside from Jan talks people into drinking almost as much as Nat does.” He did feel relieved, for the first few minutes there, that it was pretty much a No. But at the same time, now Tony was pissed that he’d asked, and… Bucky was pretty sure that he didn’t have an excuse for that, beyond terrible self-esteem. Which Tony never seemed to believe; he honestly stared at Bucky like Bucky was the worst kind of liar whenever Bucky pointed out how much better looking Steve was.

Tony shrugged. “It’s different,” he said. “Squishier.” He pushed the covers back on his side of the bed and got in. “I liked it. I _love_ you. I swear, I don’t know why she can’t take a hint and fuck off. You can ask Scott, he was there when she brought Billie back after that pool party.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said. He curled up, a little closer to Tony’s side of the bed than his own, but put his back to Tony, giving Tony the opportunity to be the big spoon (which he wasn’t very often, because Tony was shorter and more compact for one, and secondly, he made the worst noises when Bucky’s hair got in his mouth. Bucky would swear before a judge that Tony had been a cat in a past life, all the way down to the hairballs.) and because it was hard to look at Tony when Bucky was feeling so weirdly vulnerable. “I know it’s not your job to prop up my ego, baby. Jus’ sometimes get to thinkin’ about how much you are, how much you have to offer someone and thinkin’ I don’t deserve it. That’s nothin’ you’re doing, and it’s not your job to fix it. But… that’s where my brain’s at right now. I’m sorry.”

Tony huffed, but then his warmth curled around Bucky’s back, and Tony was nuzzling at Bucky’s neck. “Don’t care who deserves what,” Tony said. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Sunset Bain doesn’t even come _close_ to beating you out for Best Spouse.”

Bucky arched into it, then rolled over. He kissed Tony’s chin, feeling a lot better. Loads, really. Whole laundry baskets full of better. “Sorry,” he said, again. “I don’t have a good excuse for being an ass. But losing you would _kill_ me. And… sometimes those thoughts, once they get started, it’s like, I don’t know. My brain just likes to upset me. It’s addicted to that little voice that tells me I ain’t good enough.”

“I’m familiar with persistent little voices,” Tony said. “I have a couple of my own. So, apology accepted.” He wriggled closer and kissed Bucky’s nose. “I love you, and I promise if I ever start feeling like I’m missing sex with women I’ll tell you about it. Maybe you can dress up in some pretty lingerie or something.” He grinned.

Bucky let his mouth twitch into a sly smile. “It’s really, _really_ difficult to find high heels in my size,” he confessed. And then he added a concession, because they didn’t do apology gifts, but Bucky had been giving Tony a lot of trouble recently. “But I’m pretty sure I still have my Frank-n-Furter outfit in one of those boxes in the storage room. We could look for it, if you wanted.”

Tony made a noise in the back of his throat like a swallowed whimper. “You are _way_ more of a menace than Sunset Bain,” he accused.

“Six inch heels with red soles,” Bucky said, his voice dropping into a throaty growl. “Thigh high stockings. Garter belt. Corset. Gloves. Pearl necklace. Hmmm. Does that sound like something you’d want me to wear?”

Tony whined again and tucked his head down against Bucky’s throat. “Fuck, yes.”

“I have some pictures, too, back when we were all doin’ the shadow cast, down at the Naro,” Bucky said. “Thor was Rocky, of course. Steve was Brad, because this was back when he was still little skinny Steve. And Peggy as Janet. You’d get a kick out of it. We’ll look for it, soon, okay, baby?”

“I’m holding you to that,” Tony said.

 


	10. Chapter 10

If Scott would have just done his job and let himself fade into the background, Tony might have been able to deal with it. There was no reason why the busboy/janitor had to constantly be this _thing_ that was in the way. This person who was always saying or doing exactly the wrong thing, but in such a manner that Tony knew -- _knew_ mind you -- that he’d be getting raised eyebrows from his husband. And that Bucky would, very gently, side with Tony, and shoo Scott out of the way like a puppy that just peed on the rug, and that Tony would feel all conflicted, both guilty and vindicated at the same time.

Honestly. It was enough to drive a man crazy.

Scott danced on that line of what was clearly unacceptable and would get him fired versus any sort of reasonable behavior.

Take this morning.

(Please. Someone just take it away. Preferably far far away.)

The good thing was at least Scott hadn’t fucked up his entire morning; the balcony that Tony occupied while drinking his morning coffee and looking out to sea was backward to the parking lot. So he didn’t notice that Scott had pulled his van (really, van. He called that thing a van. More like a rusty box on wheels.) into the prime non-handicapped parking space, and chocked it up on ramps. And had proceeded to take half the engine apart.

Bits of greasy, rusted metal were scattered all over two quilts in the two parking spaces next to him, alongside two 10-gallon buckets that had fucking _aprons_ on them, in which Scott had arranged his tools. The man himself was lying half under the van, feet poking out from the sides.

All of this would have been bad enough on its own, except that Tony’s damn adopted daughter was sitting on one of the quilts, apparently wiping down the battery with a rag dipped in anti-corrosion fluid and handing tools to Scott as he requested them.

If Tony’d had the _slightest_ indication that Billie had _any_ interest in mechanics... He’d been fixing the Dockside staff’s vehicles for the cost of parts and occasional rides since he’d first arrived. Billie had _seen_ him changing the oil and spark plugs in Bucky’s truck, and swanned right by without even saying hello. But now she was elbow-deep in Scott’s pathetic excuse for a ride? What the fuck. What. Even. The fuck.

Tony watched for a minute, then took a couple of deep breaths and walked over. “Morning.”

Billie looked up; the last of this week’s bruises and cuts finally fading. At least it was the weekend and she had another whole day before she was back at camp erasing all the skin off her knees. “Hey, Uncle Tony,” she said, grinning. “Look at this!” She held up a handful of spark plugs. “Mr. Scott’s been telling me all about how com’ustion engines work. Did you know there are little explosions inside a car’s engine, Uncle Tony? Tiny little ones.” She put the spark plugs back down, carefully, in order, and then held up her thumb and forefinger to show him just how tiny.

“Yes, actually I did. I fix Uncle Bucky’s and Mr. Sam’s trucks all the time, I’m pretty familiar with combustion engines. I didn’t know you were interested.” He tried, he _tried_ to keep his tone light and casual. He had no idea how successful he actually was.

“Oh.” Billie’s eyes got wide. “Mr. Scott says, he says that it takes a _really_ smart person to rebuild a car bore… what’s the word? …anyway, rebuild it, an’ not have left over parts. He also said he is not always a very smart person, which is just silly. An’, an’ he also said that, because I’m a _girl_ , I have to be really careful not to let some… a-hole rip me off when I go in to get my car fixed, so he was gonna show me all the parts an’ stuff, so I’d know.”

Scott started patting the pavement near where he’d left a wrench and Billie shifted until she could shove the tool into his hand.

“Carburetor,” Tony supplied, “and yes, they’re pretty tricky. It’s good stuff to know.” And that was pretty savvy on Scott’s part, even if Tony didn’t want to admit it. He’d planned on some minimum maintenance lessons for Billie when she was ready to start working on her driver’s license, but he hadn’t thought about pushing lessons on her so early. “Though maybe Mr. Scott might want to be careful about his language, because I’m pretty sure even ‘a-hole’ would get you a lecture from your teachers.”

“Buzzkill,” Scott said, crawling out from under the van. He was smeared with grease and oil and that peculiar reddish color that transmission fluid was. “It’s _hilarious_ to listen to tiny little voices swear.” He directed his attention to Billie. “But he’s the dad, so what he says goes. How about mansplaining neckbeards. We can call them that, instead.”

“Dudebros?” Billie suggested. She handed him a clean rag. “Your face is all dirty.”

“Watch me have a heart attack and die from that surprise,” Scott said in his best Iago the Parrot voice.

Of course Scott knew Disney. Why did Tony always forget that Scott was a dad -- had been one for longer than Tony had, even, despite Cassie being half Billie’s age. “Those are acceptable alternatives,” Tony allowed. God, he loved Billie. “At least if I have to come down to the principal’s office over that, I’ll be able to summon the correct amount of righteous fury.”

“This is one smart cookie,” Scott said. He reached out as if he was going to ruffle Billie’s hair, then looked at his greasy hand and decided against it, settling for patting her on the shoulder instead. It didn’t get her any less dirty, really, but at least the shirt was probably easier to wash. “I just asked her to hold some stuff for me while I got settled and she started asking questions. Cassie does that, too. Questions, questions, questions. I think they must share library books or something. I miss it.” Okay, that was completely _not fair_ for Scott to look at Tony’s damn daughter with huge, somehow not-quite-tearing-up-but-maybe-thinking-about-it eyes.

“Yeah, Billie’s great,” Tony agreed. Scott was still making those eyes at her, though. _Ug_. “Have you heard anything about Cassie’s birthday party?” See, he could be nice.

Scott wiped his hands off on the clean rag, twisting his fingers in the fabric. “Yeah, I uh… Maggie’s boyfriend, he… well, he’s sort of suggesting that I decline the invitation.” Scott nodded his head a few times, his whole upper body swaying with the motion. “And… well, Paxton’s a cop. State Trooper. Isn’t that a really good job for someone to have?” There was some sarcasm there, but he was trying hard to keep it light.

...Well, fuck. Tony glanced at Billie. She wasn’t following the conversation intently, but Tony’d had more than one experience with her ability to just absorb information from the air around her. “Sure, that’s admirable,” Tony finally said. “That sounds... awkward. So, what, you can see her some other time, maybe?”

“I got her a present. It’s horrible. She’ll love it. Maggie will hate it. Win-win, right? I thought I’d just… just go by and drop it off, you know, in, out. Five minutes. Paxton’ll help me to the curb again, just like last time. It’ll be good.” Scott pressed his hand to his ribs for a moment. “I’ll get it. I’ll get there. Just. Have to be persistent. And figure out what the hell is wrong with my van, of course. Can’t get there without a ride.”

So much, _so much_ is wrong with your van, Tony wanted to say. But it wasn’t like working a minimum-wage job was exactly conducive to car payments; Scott was making do with what he had. And it didn’t take much to unpack “help me to the curb”, because Scott had been beat to hell when he’d turned up at Dockside, and those ribs were probably still healing. It wasn’t Tony’s problem, of course, and there was a pretty strong argument to be made that Scott wasn’t getting any more than he deserved.

So it must have been Billie’s bright, curious eyes on them that made Tony say, “Do you need a hand with that?” And the engine, of course. Tony loved poking around in engines, even pieces of shit like this one.

“Really?” Scott asked, then, rather than letting Tony talk himself out of it, he just went on, “I don’t know what’s up, I thought it was the air-intake. It’s kinda doing this thing, around three thousand rpms where it just… drops out of gear. Which is fine, I can handle that around here where the speed limit’s only thirty-five. I annoy people by sitting in second the whole time, but hey, I annoy people anyway, am I right? Nothing new and different there, really. But Newport News… that’s all the way up across the tunnel, and there’s no way in hell I can afford the tow fee if I break down in the tunnel.”

Virginia Beach was situated on top of a river delta, and was riddled with bridges and tunnels going over and under the dozens of meandering waterways. The tunnels in particular were major local bottlenecks, especially when a breakdown or accident took out a lane. Only certain companies were allowed to tow disabled vehicles out of the tunnels, and they didn’t even take it to the shop. They’d just drag your sorry ass out of the tunnel and leave you there.

“You know, your life might be a little easier if you did, actually, care about not annoying people,” Tony couldn’t help pointing out, but he was already leaning under the hood to look at the carburetor. Dear gods, this thing was so old it didn’t even have an onboard computer, which meant it was probably at least as old as _Tony_. On the other hand, various advancements aside, the essential operation of engines hadn’t changed all that much since Ford’s time -- they’d gotten more efficient and easier to maintain, but the moving parts all still did the same things they’d always done.

It took them a couple of hours to find the problem. Billie got bored and wandered off after about forty-five minutes, which was frankly about forty minutes longer than Tony would’ve guessed. But there was a sense of pride and a grudging feeling of camaraderie when Scott cranked the engine over and it sputtered to life -- not the smooth purr it should be, because there had been some gerry-rigging involved, but a steady rumble nonetheless.

“Wow, thanks man,” Scott said. He held out a hand and shook Tony’s, clapping him on the shoulder at the same time. He didn’t quite let go again when it would have been appropriate, but then he noticed and dropped Tony’s hand awkwardly. “I… wow, you are really, _really_ good at this. I bet you don’t have leftover screws when you rebuild the carburetor. I totally did that once, and man, my old T-bird, it did not like that, not at all, I was going around the off-ramp to the interstate, and… yeah, it just… fell to pieces. It was almost impressive. You know. Just…” He made a gesture with his hands like driving off the cliff. Then he pointed to a jagged scar along the side of his neck, covered with grime, old and faded. “‘Bout ended my career early.”

Tony could not help visualizing; he winced in sympathy. “Ow. Yeah. I... was at MIT for mechanical engineering, actually. Didn’t finish, but I still like playing with engines.” Saying it made his stomach twist in unpleasant ways. Not finishing his degree was one of his bigger regrets, but there never really seemed to be time for it now.

“Aw, that’s cool, man. Wow. You know, there’s a rocket club around here, saw ‘em a few weeks ago, blastin’ off over at the park. You should totally take your daughter, I bet she’d love it.” Scott started packing up his tools and getting them back into his van. “Again, man, I ‘preciate the assist. I’ll, I’ll uh, bring you a beer or something. You look like… IPA drinker? Yeah, no? Know you’re not eatin’ your beer with a fork, like Steve. Not that I’d bring him a beer, he’d probably chuck it at my head, you know? Man, I don’t know, that guy, he’s just… not going to warm up to me. Ah well. Thanks again.”

“Sure.” There wasn’t much to say to the comment about Steve. Steve had taken a while to warm up to Tony, and there hadn’t even been any history there to work through, just base suspicion. Tony checked the time and grimaced -- he had about half an hour to take another shower and change before he needed to start setting up for lunch. “I’m going to go clean up,” he said. “Good luck with your ex.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it,” he said, then paused. “Um. If I don’t come in tonight, um. Could you not tell Bucky what I said about Paxton? He worries. But I’ll be in tomorrow, no matter what. Promise.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Scott didn’t make it to work that night. Billie had already excitedly told Bucky about how she and Tony had helped fix the van, so when Bucky speculated that it had un-fixed itself (not impossible), Tony just nodded agreement and thought uncomfortably about the way Scott had poked at his ribs.

Scott didn’t make it in the next day, either, and there was no stopping Bucky from calling Luis, the friend Scott was crashing with, to see if he needed a ride.

Bucky’s face darkened as he listened, saying “uh-huh” and “I see” a few times before hanging up. He tapped the phone against his chin for several moments, then pulled up his contacts list and picked Sam’s cheerful face. “Yeah, hey, Falcon. I know, I know. When’d your next free -- okay, great. Can I borrow you for like two hours? Sure, sure. You still keep your kit stocked? Yeah, Wanda’s here, she can let me in, I know where it is. Thanks. Yeah. No, no, it’s Scott. He had… he had a run in with a blue door yesterday. Yeah. Thanks.”

Tony had to resist the urge to rub his neck or chew his lip. “What’s up?”

“Scott had an accident and he can’t afford medical treatment,” Bucky said. He tucked his phone in his pocket. His face was incredibly bleak, almost expressionless, except for the faint flicker around his left eye. “Sam used to be a medic, for a while. It’s basic, but it’ll do him. Probably. I need -- come with me, I want to grab some stuff, but I’ll need you to run today, okay? I know it’s a lot, on short notice --” Bucky was walking and talking at the same time, his whole body tense. “-- but I can’t just send Sam by himself. They don’t know him, and… yeah.” He sighed, and then went to the den and pulled open the house safe, twisting dials. From the back, he pulled out a lockbox and unlocked it. From the box, he pulled out a prescription bottle. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

Tony tipped his head to read the bottle label: oxycotin. The name on it was not Bucky’s. He took a breath. “Should I be?”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe? Probably? It’s not smart, I know. One of the renters left them at Clint’s place. They didn’t call about it, so I guess they just got an emergency refill, and. Well, with Scott here, I thought it might not be a bad idea to have it on hand. I shouldn’t have. I don’t know why I did it.”

“Well, at least you know it was a bad idea,” Tony sighed. “You know neither you nor Scott can be caught with that, right?”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “I know,” he said. “But Luis thinks he might have a cracked orbital socket. I know, baby, I know. I’m… yeah, it’s stupid. Luis knows what to do, though, he can mix it up in a protein powder. Grind the pills down, it’ll look just the same. He used to work in the dispensary at Azzano.”

Tony put one hand over his eyes. “Bucky...” He considered the options, and thought about the bruises Scott had that hadn’t even faded yet, and sighed. He held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll take it to him. I’m not letting you wander around with this on you.”

Bucky opened his mouth like he was going to protest, and then… “Okay, Tony. You’re right. Lots less risk if you do it. I’m sorry, I am so _fucking_ sorry, I know I’m saying that a lot recently.”

Tony cupped Bucky’s face and pulled him close for a kiss, fast and hard. “We’re a team,” he said, and added, “And you are _absolutely_ going to make it up to me later. For now, tell me where Luis lives and give me your keys.”

“I love you,” Bucky said. He dug in his jeans and gave him the keys to the truck. “I need to get Sam’s kit, then you’ll want to pick Sam up from his office in Norfolk. I still can’t believe that, Sam Wilson, therapist. I mean, wow. Then, Portsmouth.” He made a face and started back down the stairs, still talking, giving Tony the direction. He didn’t shut up even as he moved into the kitchen, which was probably a bad plan, because what he did say was, “I can’t believe I am sending you and Sam into fucking Newtown by yourselves.”

And Steve whirled around to say, “Excuse me?”

“Shit.” Bucky exhaled, slowly. Then, “I don’t have time for this. Wanda, did Sam… yeah, thanks,” he said as she threw the house keys at him. “Here. Sam and Wanda’s bedroom, in their bathroom, third shelf up in the linen closet, there’s a big khaki-colored backpack. Grab it. Go pick up Sam and get going. Thank you, Tony.”

“No.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “Go where?”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Tony said. “Turns out Scott didn’t show up for lunch because he’s hurt pretty bad. Just going to take Sam over to see to him, since you _know_ he can’t afford a doc-in-the-box.”

Steve shifted his jaw and made a face like he’d bitten a lemon. “Portsmouth?”

“Lincoln Street, point in fact,” Bucky said, mouth screwing up pugnaciously.

Steve took a deep breath. Then he took off his chef’s apron and handed it to Bucky. “All right, then,” he said. For half a second, Tony was terrified that Bucky had pushed Steve to the end of his tolerance and the next words out of Steve’s mouth were going to be _I quit_ , which was why he almost fell over when what Steve said instead was, “I’m going with them.”

“What? No.” Tony blinked. Looked at Bucky, who looked just as flummoxed as Tony felt, and back at Steve. “That’s totally not necessary.”

“Maybe not,” Steve agreed in his deep, rumbly voice. “But you seem to think it’s a bad idea for Buck to go, which I don’t disagree with. Because he was probably getting ready to do something both stupid and _illegal_. So. You’re going to protect Buck, which I approve of, and admire, because I can never seem to talk him into letting me do it for him. Even though _I owe him._ And he knows that.” Steve was really getting his glare on, and Bucky was almost cringing. “And I know for a fact that I can talk you into letting me help you out, because we are friends, and that’s what friends do. They help each other not do stupid shit, so I am doing this, and Buck is going to stay here and man the grill and deal with irate customers and think about what he’s doing. Are we all perfectly clear on the plan here?”

Tony stared at Steve for a moment. “You... Do you come up with this off the top of your head, or do you practice?” He threw his hands up. “Fine, come with us, then, play bodyguard. It’s not like Sam’s a combat-certified veteran or I _grew up in New York_ or anything.”

“Right,” Bucky said, slipping the apron on over his head. “I’ll see you when you get back.” And he turned his back on both of them, headed for the grill.

Steve put a hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezed. “Come on,” he said. “If we’re gonna be stupid, let’s get on with it.”

***

Well, Tony had seen worse neighborhoods.

Luis and Dave’s apartment was in one of those hopeless-looking complexes of duplex-style homes, all sidewalk and parking, without a scrap of green to be found. Some of them had air conditioners sticking precariously out of the windows. Some of them did not. Scott’s van, parked half on, and half off, the curb, had a dent in the door that hadn’t been there yesterday, and the side view mirror was missing.

“Well, this is a shithole,” Sam said from the back of Bucky’s truck. “Let’s go be good _Sam_ aritans.”

“Really?” Tony complained, waiting for Steve and Sam to climb out so he could lock the doors. He ducked his head and used the truck’s side mirror to look around a little without being obvious about it. He was glad it was summer; they’d be leaving again before it got dark.

“My girlfriend thinks I’m funny,” Sam said, haughtily, pulling his pack onto his shoulders. “That’s all that matters.”

The man who answered the door at the address Bucky had given them was short, round-faced, and Hispanic. He had a ready smile and a scruffy beard and wore a two-colored bowling shirt. “Oh, hey, man, come in, come in,” he said, “Bucky said he’d send us up some help. And yeah, like we could really use some, man. I was, man, I was out last night at this art gallery thing, and it was really sweet cubist work, even though I’m more of a abstract impressionist type of guy, when Scottie called, man, an’ he was like so out of it, it’s lucky, I think, that he could even dial a phone. Luckier for him that I answered it, he borrowed a phone off some dude, he don’t have one himself, you know. Come on, he’s up here. Hey, you want some waffles, man? Dave makes great waffles, an’ he’s got fresh mix and even some strawberries fresh, he went off to one of those pick your own places and got em. So good.” Luis led them up to the second floor.

“That sounds great, the fresh ones are the best,” Tony said, “but we should probably check in on Scott first, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, this way. I put him in my room for right now, he don’t need to be layin’ on that tatty old couch right now. I mean, free furniture is free, right, but that thing’d seen better days before it ended up on the curb.” Luis opened a door; that room was a lot cooler, the AC unit buzzing in the window. A bucket was secured under it to catch the condensation.

The room smelled like rubbing alcohol and blood. Scott wasn’t asleep, but was laying on his back, an ice-pack over one eye that looked like it could use some time in the freezer. He was shirtless and had a blanket pulled over his hips. Sweat gleamed off his chest, showing off his lean frame and a thick patch of fist-shaped bruises, with particularly dark spots and scrapes in places -- whoever had hit him wore rings. “Oh, man,” Scott said, “is it tomorrow already? I… man, Tony, I am so sorry, I… I can get up, I’m fine.” He made an effort to sit up, and Sam was already there, putting one hand on his shoulder.

“No, man, you cannot,” Sam said. “Lay back and let me poke at you for a minute here.”

“Jesus,” Tony hissed. He glanced at Steve, but Steve had already figured out there was something not quite legal going on, so Tony just dropped a hand on Luis’ shoulder and took the pill bottle from his pocket. “Bucky said you’d know the best way to get this in him.”

Luis bounced the bottle in his hand for a moment, then opened it and counted out the tablets. “Yeah, I can work with this, this is great. Hey, doc-man, what dosage you want for him, these are 80mils, with a divide line. I can cut ‘em finer, if you need.”

Sam was peering in Scott’s eyes with a pen light. “Give him two to start with now. He’s got broken fingers and I’ll want to set them. That’s going to hurt. Golden hour’s gone. Golden day… what time did this happen?”

Luis shrugged. “I don’t know, man. He called us for a ride, late last night, ‘round ten, maybe? Took me longer to get to him.”

Scott rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a moment, then said, “About six, after --” he coughed, then laid back, groaning. “After I left. Oh, man, that hurts.”

“Show me your set up, mister chemist,” Sam said. “Let’s get him out of pain before I start working.”

Luis nodded, “Step into my laboratory,” he said, cackling and rubbing his hands together like a B-grade movie mad scientist. “I always wanted to say that, man.”

Tony and Steve shuffled around to let Sam and Luis out -- the room wasn’t big enough to hold five full-grown adults, and Steve was probably big enough to count as two. “He seems like a pretty good guy,” Tony said. “You know, for a drug dealer.” He shuffled over to the side of the bed. “Scott, what the hell?”

“Glad you’re here, man,” Scott said, although his eye flicked nervously at Steve. He took off the ice pack, which was just a squishy gel pack by this point, and his eye was swollen shut, purple and ugly, with a cut held together with butterfly bandages next to it. “I need some smarts to help me out of this mess. Least I got to see Cassie though. Even got to sit with her while they cut the cake and she blew out her candles and made wishes, so, you know. Worth it. But… Cross an’ VonDoom and Fisk, they… wanted to have a little chat. They were waiting for me. Right outside her _fucking_ house, man.” Scott’s fist clenched and he groaned. “Ow, fuck, ow, fuck.”

Tony glanced at Steve again, but Steve just shook his head tightly; he didn’t know what Scott was talking about. “Who?”

“Thieves, man,” Scott said. “High end guys. Brutal. They shoulda been in maxsec, but they never got pinned with those B&Es with the fatalities. Home invasion gone wrong. Bullshit. Home invasion with a side order of murder, just like VonDoom likes it. They want me to do a job. Their computer guy got pinched.”

“They did this to you?” Tony said, feeling sick. “What the _fuck_.”

“Reminder,” Scott said. “VonDoom was pissed with me. Has been for years. Knows enough to leave me one hand to work with, but I… I need an out, man.”

Steve scoffed. “Yeah? You were gonna go straight to Buck with this, weren’t you? Ask him to help you out, right? New ID, move out of state, you know he knows how to do that. Get him in deep and you’d be out of town, right?”

“Fuck, no,” Scott said. “I can’t tell _Bucky_ about this, are you fucking kidding me? Let him know that VonDoom and his cronies are on the loose and that they know where I am? How long you think it’d be ‘til they track me back to work, find out he’s there? No. No. I want to keep Bucky as far away from this as possible, man. VonDoom took a shine to him, back in Azzano; he and his boys beat the _shit_ out of Bucky. Wanted to keep him for their very own. They were at him for _days_.”

“Wait, what?” Steve burst in. “I thought that was you.”

“Thought what was me? That I fuckin’ choked him with a goddamn chair leg? Me? You thought _I_ did that? Have you seen me? I mean, look at me! I’m half Bucky’s size, on my best day. Come on, man, I ain’t that way. I was in infirmary when that shit went down, but soon as it did, I got Peaches to have a word with VonDoom, and one of the guards took a couple hundred to put us all on a different yard schedule. Bucky _cannot_ know. He… I don’t know what he’d do, but I don’t want to see him hurt, okay?”

That sick feeling wasn’t getting any better. “They’re going to figure out where you work anyway,” he said. “If they found your ex... Fuck. What can we do?”

Scott shrugged. “I can do the job, I guess? Keep everyone safe. Gonna knock over some big roller in Virginia Beach, some bar and dance club. Rumor has it, the guy owns hotels all up and down the coast. Lotta gambling money from Atlantic City comes here.”

Steve stared. “You’re shitting me,” he said. “Tell me I am not hearing what I think I am hearing?”

The hotels and the most successful clubs in Virginia Beach were _all_ owned by big conglomerate groups, so that didn’t narrow it down much, but Tony’s stomach was sinking.

“Should be okay, this time,” Scott added. “I mean, th’ guy’s got a kid, they’re going on vacation, so… no murder.”

“The _Valhalla_ ,” Tony said. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck...” He looked at Steve, who was looking about as queasy as Tony was feeling. “We can call the cops,” he said.

“Oh, yay. Back to jail. Three strikes and I’m fucking out, man,” Scott said.

Tony growled. “Thought you were going straight,” he said.

“I _want_ to,” Scott said. “I want to. But these are not guys I can say no to. I don’t have Peaches here. I don’t have walls between me and them. This is, you know, America. Land of the fucking free. They will hurt Cassie if I say no.” Scott fell back on the bed, limp and exhausted, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“They’re bullies,” Steve said. He’d folded those arms again. “You say yes once, you can never say no again. You run, they chase you. You have to stand up to them.”

Tony pointed at Scott. “He can’t stand up _period_ , much less stand up _to_ anyone!”

“He’s right,” Scott said. “He’s right. Look, look, I’ll… I’ll do the job. I’ll give you all the details, soon’s I know ‘em. You call the cops. You, you know the guy, right, this Odinson? Upstanding Citizens and everything. It’ll be fine. I’ll take a fall. I know how to take a fall.”

“No,” Tony protested. As much as Scott annoyed him, that was bullshit. There _had_ to be a better way. He rubbed at his neck. “Steve, you think we could get Fury to listen? He likes you and Bucky. Sort of. As much as Fury likes anyone.”

Steve laughed, low. “Nick likes you just fine, Tony,” he said. “For, you know… a textbook narcissist.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “He’d certainly like Loki to owe him one. He’ll listen.”

Tony sat carefully on the side of the bed to look at Scott. “Fury’s a cop, but he’s a friend. He and Bucky and Steve all go way back. If we tell him, we can set up a sting. VonDoom and Fisk and Cross go to jail, _you_ get brownie points for being Fury’s inside man.”

“Celly trusts this guy? Fury? What kind of a name is _Fury_? Was Officer Self-Righteous taken already?” Scott asked.

“You’re the one being stalked by a guy named Von _Doom_ , for fucksake,” Tony said. “Sounds like a B-list movie villain. Will you do it? Let us talk to Fury, at least?”

Scott took a deep breath. “Yeah, let’s try pretending I know what legit people do. But if he arrests me, I swear to God, you better send me cookies. And not just once, but every week, man. Every week. Like clockwork, I want some of those Steve Rogers snickerdoodles.”

Steve scoffed. “You weren’t supposed to have any to start with.”

“I haven’t, man. That’s why I want them. God, damn.”

Sam coughed a few times, coming back into the room. He had a baby-syringe in hand, the kind used to give medicine to little kids. “I cannot believe I’m doin’ this, man, but this is oxycontin, antibiotics, an’ liquid marijuana and in about ten minutes, you wouldn’t feel it if I ripped you in half.”

“He’s gonna rip me in half?” Scott asked, eyes wide.

“Yes,” Tony said, dialing up the sarcasm to about eleven. And a half. “These Air Force medics, that’s what they do. So shut up and take your medicine, ‘cause you don’t want to feel it.”

Sam stuck the business end in Scott’s mouth and depressed the plunger. Setting it aside, he said, “and now we wait for the purple hairy spiders to show up, and I’ll get to work.”

“This sounds less fun with every passing second,” Scott complained. “Also, my tongue is numb, like… awwedy. Zat… sposed…”

“Yes, that’s exactly what’s supposed to happen,” Sam said. “Now, you just relax and get high, man. It’ll be okay. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“I like how purple hairy spiders is apparently _worse_ than being ripped in half,” Tony observed to Steve.

“I’d criticize, but you’ve seen me around mice, so,” Steve said, thoughtfully. “Do you believe him?”

“Do I believe these guys roughed him up to try to drag him into their shit?” Tony asked. “Yes. Do I believe he’ll man up and cooperate with Fury?” He shrugged. “I dunno. But these guys, they’re going to be going after the Valhalla even if Scott cuts and runs. I think we have to do _something_.”

“Y’all might want to step out of the room for a bit,” Sam said. “Medic shit is not for the weak.”

Scott was mostly asleep -- or unconscious, it was hard to tell the difference -- but despite that, they could hear Scott scream when Sam set his fingers, even out in the hall.

Tony cringed at the sound, and Steve didn’t look happy about it. “I think we have to give him this chance, Steve,” he said. “Otherwise, what’s the point of that?”

“There’s some guys you can’t save, Tony,” Steve said. “Some of them, you just stop. If he comes through on this, I might change my mind, but I think Scott Lang has been _nothing_ but trouble.”

“Believe me, I know what you’re saying,” Tony said. “But I think the best way to keep Bucky out of this is to try to get these guys put away. Tell me you disagree.”

Steve heaved a great big sigh. “Wish I could, but as it happens,” he said. “I also think I’m not going to be sleeping well for a while. And that my wife is going to _kill me_.”

“Between a rock and a hard place,” Tony agreed. “Bucky’s going to make me sleep on the couch for a _month_ when he finds out.”

“Well,” Steve said, fatalistic, slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders, “we’ll do it together.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG NEWS, EVERYONE!
> 
> 1) Someone asked us, "What would've happened if Bucky had lost Dockside?" And we thought about it, and promptly spewed out 60k of words in answer, called _Stem the Tide_. It will NOT be posted as part of the Sandbridge series, but we'll list Safe and (the) Sound as its inspiration. We'll post the _entire fic_ on the posting day after this story ends, before we start the next "canon" Sandbridge story. (So unless something weird happens, it will go up on March 20th.)
> 
> 2) Then we got crazy again and wrote a sci-fi space pirates fic, _Enhanciles War: The Road to Knowhere_. It was going to be a Firefly AU, but it deviated from that almost immediately and took on a life of its own. Rather than post that all at once, starting with the next Sandbridge story, we'll be dropping Sandbridge back to Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the Sunday post will be devoted to the space pirates.
> 
> 3) We wrote 130,000 words in the space of about three weeks. We are Not Right in the Head. Send help.


	12. Chapter 12

The grass in the soccer field was such a brilliant green it was almost painful to look at. Someone had been wasting a lot of water to keep it lush and full. The sides of the field had several sets of metal bleachers, but Tony eschewed them to set up a few camp chairs with drink holders and little shaded umbrellas, because Tony. They’d closed the Dockside for the lunch crowd, on a Friday, which was probably annoying some customers, but the amount of bickering over who got to go watch Billie’s “demonstration” game for the parents had been giving Bucky a headache, and so they all went.

Tony was a bad influence, Bucky thought, fondly. There were times Bucky was becoming more willing to just throw money at a problem. God knew, they had enough of the stuff. The Dockside crew had all gotten into the idea of the soccer game; Nat had even gone so far as to dig up her vuvuzela left over from the FIFA World Cup a few years back.

Bucky wasn’t entirely surprised to see Loki there -- Billie emailed with her biological father regularly -- but he was surprised that Thor and George Odinson had joined him. Lucky, who was very fond of Thor and Loki, strained at his leash, nearly pulling Bucky over in his effort to go greet the Odinsons.

Loki was not so fond of their dog, and grimaced a little when Lucky jumped up on him to say hello.

“We shall sit with you,” Odinson declared, his booming voice almost as loud as his elder son’s, but somehow more solemn and less full of hidden laughter than Thor’s, “and watch my young grandchild at her first battle.”

Billie’s dads -- all three of them -- exchanged eloquent looks that stopped only just short of eye-rolls. If Thor had said it, Tony probably would have laughed, because it would have sounded like a joke. But when George said it, it somehow sounded very serious.

“They try to discourage fighting among the kids,” Tony tried, and then changed the subject. “How’s that new place in Nags Head doing for you?”

“Quite well,” Odinson declared. “Booked solid the whole season; those thematic rooms you designed for us have been quite the hit with the young families. Cheaper than Disney, almost as much fun.” He clapped Tony on the back, nearly knocking him over. “I shall give you some vouchers. Come, vacation with us, and you shall see.”

“That would be great,” Tony said. “Something off-season, obviously, since you’re booked up.” He winked at Bucky and drew Odinson into a conversation about the family’s other out-of-state business ventures. Which left Bucky to deal with Thor and Loki, so maybe Tony wasn’t doing him that much of a favor after all, there.

Loki studied his fingernails, perfectly manicured. “Be certain to pack Billie a heavy coat for next week’s trip,” he said. “I’m told the Luray Caverns are quite chilly and the normal summer wear will be insufficient.”

Bucky almost pinched the bridge of his nose. Had Loki not _noticed_ that Billie was afraid of the dark? “You think she’s gonna like that?”

“We have discussed the matter,” Loki said in that supercilious manner of his. Bucky knew -- he knew, he did -- that it wasn’t so much that they spoke English badly or anything, just that they were very formal. But it sounded like the worst sort of snobbery, sometimes. “She likens it to searching for pirate treasure, and thus I am assured that she will find it enjoyable as well as educational. And if the caverns are not to her liking, there are many other attractions in the area in which she might find some small pleasure. Mountain trails to hike, and a wildlife reserve and the like.”

That got Bucky’s eyebrow going. “You. Are going to go hiking.”

“Verily, I was shocked also, at this confession of my brother’s,” Thor said, laughing.

“As I spent my childhood competing in the out of doors with this buffoon,” Loki pointed out, “I believe I have the capability to keep up with my daughter.”

_God_ , the Odinsons put the fun in dysfunctional. On the other hand, Loki might have a point.

A teenage girl took to the soccer field wearing a bright yellow tunic. She stopped in the middle of the field and lifted a megaphone.

“Parents, friends, and family, welcome to the Southside’s annual demonstration soccer game!” she hollered. “I’d like to welcome the Virginia Beach team, the Hydras!” Those kids ran onto the field, whooping, their green tunics with their surnames and numbers printed on the back. Each of them had a soccer ball. They arrived at the center of the field, dropped their balls and each took a turn dribbling down toward the net. Depending on the player’s confidence, they each kicked the ball when they felt close enough, and about half of them actually scored into the empty net.

“And,” the referee continued, “our Sandbridge Avengers!”

Billie and her teammates took to the field in their light blue tunics. Bucky swallowed a sudden lump in his throat; Billie had brought him the form to sign to get her shirt, but apparently she’d edited it at some point, because her number (17) was further down on her back than the other kids, because her name took up two lines. _Barnes-Stark-Odinson_. Oh, God, Tony was going to cry when he saw --

Bucky turned to go get Tony’s attention when he realized that _Loki_ was wiping discreetly under his eyes. Yeah, okay, Bucky didn’t really want to think about that.

But yep, Tony’s hand was over his mouth and his eyes were suspiciously bright. He turned them on Bucky. “Did you know?”

Bucky shook his head. “She didn’t tell me she was doing that.” He put his arm around his husband. “Come on, let’s go sit down and cheer her on.”

“She is a worthy warrior-child,” Odinson declared. “I am prodigiously proud of her.”

“Nice to know I have done something correctly,” Loki muttered darkly, “even if it is only providing adequate genetic material.”

Tony snorted, just loud enough for Bucky to hear. “Really, it would’ve been interesting to see my dad and George in the same room.”

“Yeah, sure, they’d probably blow up the planet,” Bucky snarked. He did not have any fond memories of Howard Stark.

Because the teams had been divided geographically, Billie and most of her Sandbridge friends were on the same team. Bryan Bain -- with whom Billie had become firm friends -- was captain of the opposing team from Virginia Beach kids, the Hydras. The kids lined up in opposite rows, and Bucky spotted Billie at the center spot as captain of the Avengers, and then picked out her two best friends further down the line -- Ororo Monroe, with her box-braided white hair, and Kendra Casper.

“Captains, shake hands!”

Billie and Bryan stepped forward, gripped each other’s hands like they were Manchester United versus Liverpool. Then Billie leaned forward, an impish grin on her face and kissed Bryan’s cheek. Bryan was so flustered and blushing that for the first ball drop, Billie kicked it right out from under him and scored within two minutes.

“That is _your_ child,” Bucky accused his husband.

Tony was howling with laughter, and did not deny it. “God, I love that kid,” he gasped.

The game lasted four quarters at seven minutes each, in which the kids spent almost the entire time running flat out, chasing the ball. There were, Bucky was given to understand, dozens of soccer fouls. By the half-time, Billie had committed at least a quarter of them herself, including kicking her blocker’s feet out from under them, “accidentally” elbowing someone in the chest, and slide-tackling the goalie.

Bucky was starting to consider that maybe Billie was, in fact, _Loki’s_ child.

Her somewhat unsportsmanlike behavior granted the Hydras several penalty kicks, but in the end, Ororo and Kendra’s passing skills made up for it, and the game ended 3-2 for the Avengers.

“See, what said I,” Odinson crowed. “A fine warrior. She triumphs.”

“She’s a little _cheater_ ,” Bucky said, laughing. He was going to ignore the number of times he’d thrown spitballs when he played baseball in high school. Yep. No one needed to know about that.

When the two teams lined up to shake hands before dispersing to their families, Bryan flinched back from Billie’s offered hand as if he was worried she was going to kiss him again. Tony was still laughing when she bounced over to the group of them with the predictable greeting of “Did you see me?!”

“Of course we saw you, Princess,” Loki said, dropping onto one knee so that he was on eye level with his child. “You play… with vigor.”

“That’s one word for it,” Bucky said.

A tallish woman -- Bucky thought it actually was Mrs. Bain -- came over a few moments later, hand on Bryan’s shoulder. The boy held a couple of bottles of water.

“Hey Billie,” he said, offering her one of the bottles. “It was a good game.”

Billie snorted, very unladylike. “Used your best tricks,” she said. “Nex’ year, it’ll be okay. We c’n be on the same team in the fall. Hey, hey, meet my dads.”

She grabbed Bryan’s hand and dragged him the rest of the way over. “This is my dad-dad--” she lowered her voice conspiratorially and whispered “-- the one with the penis.” Her voice went back up to normal speaking levels while Loki choked on air. “And these are my _real_ dads, Uncle Tony and Uncle Bucky.”

Bucky wasn’t sure whose face was more priceless, Tony’s or Loki’s, though since he could feel his cheeks burning fiercely, he rather suspected it was his own. _What the hell even_?

Sunset Bain’s eyebrow went up, and then up some more. She eyed Bucky like she was sizing up a potential rival and finding him lacking, then turned her attention to Loki.

“Oh. _My_ ,” she said, softly, her smile turning a little predatory.

Tony’s eyes were as big as dinner plates as they looked from Billie to Loki to Bain and around again. After a frozen moment, he stepped in smoothly, because Tony had never had trouble talking to people. “Sunset, let’s try a slightly more useful introduction: this is Loki Odinson, Billie’s biological father.” He grinned toothily while she offered Loki a hand, and then backed away from them as fast as he could, until he collided with Bucky’s chest. “Oh _god_ ,” he whispered.

“I’m charmed, of course,” Loki said, drawing Bain’s hand up to his mouth and giving her a very airy kiss on the knuckles. So airy that Bucky was almost positive his lips didn’t actually touch her skin, but she looked slightly dazzled anyway. “My daughter tells me you’re one of the organizers for these events. That must be a bit of a chore. Do let me know, in the fall, if there’s anything I can do to ease your burden.”

“Witness, my friends--” Bucky hadn’t been sure Thor knew how to be that quiet, honestly. It was just a day for miracles all the way around. “--the mating habits of snakes.”

Tony made a noise that sounded like a balloon with a very slow leak and tucked his head into Bucky’s neck to laugh in quiet hysteria.

Billie poked him in the hip several times. “Pick me up on your shoulders, Uncle Bucky,” she demanded. “I am the champion, I _deserve_ to be carried.”

“All hail Queen Billie,” Bucky said, stepping back so she didn’t kick Tony in the face when he picked her up.

“Yep,” Billie said. “All hail.”

“Your kid,” Bucky said to Tony again. “All yours. You are so _completely_ responsible for this.”

“I would be _delighted_ to take responsibility for this masterpiece,” Tony informed him haughtily, though the effect was a bit spoiled by the way Tony couldn’t keep glancing back at Loki and Sunset Bain and having to swallow more laughter.

“So, real-dad,” Nat said, coming up beside them, Steve just behind her, juggling the lawn chairs, “is it time for ice cream now?”

“Ice cream!” Billie threw her hands up, nearly falling off Bucky’s shoulders and dove into Nat’s waiting arms. “Yes!”

“I take it back,” Bucky said. “She’s _Nat’s_ kid.”

***

“So... do I look at the patch, or the eye?” Tony asked. An elbow dug into his ribs, and he rounded his eyes at Steve. “I’m trying to be polite!” he protested. Steve had surprisingly sharp elbows for such a big guy.

Fury rubbed his face, flipping the patch up for a moment, giving Tony a good look at his ruined eyeball, fogged over and useless, and the scar that ran down under the patch, gray against his dark skin. “Whatever makes you more comfortable,” Fury said in a voice that meant everything but. “But I’ll keep both eyes on you.”

Steve rolled his head back and let his neck crack a few times. “Nick,” he said, tone dryly amused. “Can we talk business?”

“Cop business, or restaurant business? And who’s this?” Fury squinted at Scott.

“He’s the guy who’s going to make your year,” Tony said, “by helping you bag Victor VonDoom and his thugly buddies.”

Fury’s eyebrow went up. There was something about bald men that just made that look more effective. Secondary Picard Maneuver. “VonDoom?” He rubbed his hands together. “ _Kingpin_?”

Scott nodded.  “They’re all out. Fisk needs to rebuild capital.” He looked over at Tony as if for comfort, or encouragement. Something. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever voluntarily given a cop my name before.”

“You haven’t done anything illegal since you were released,” Tony said, mentally crossing his fingers, because he didn’t figure the oxycontin counted since it was being used for its intended purpose. If Fury’s eyebrow climbed any higher, it was going to wind up on the back of his head. “You’ve just been _approached_ , that’s not your fault.” He watched Fury steadily as he said it, willing the man to agree.

It had to help that Scott was still obviously injured. Steve snorted and rolled his eyes. “Approached, sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“Kingpin, huh,” Fury said, again. He rubbed at his chin. “All right, tell you what. Why don’t you give me what you know, and if I decide it’s useful, then you can tell me your name. Right now you’re just a concerned citizen and this doesn’t have to go any further than my office.”

Scott licked his teeth, making a dubious slucking sound, then nodded. “Okay, so there’s this bar in Virginia Beach, that has a TimeLox10 system on the safe. This bar… well, it’s small and out of the way. Big for this area, a gem, really. But it’s not anything like what the family’s got elsewhere. Has a lot more money than it should; they funnel a lot of their proceeds through here from Atlantic City, for tax reasons or something. The safe, it holds… a lot. The TimeLox10… It’s a good system, very sound. Unless you know the trick. Then boom, it’s your baby and…”

“Let me guess,” Fury said. “You know the trick. That’s an interesting skill to have, Mr. Concerned Citizen.”

Scott hemmed and hawed a bit. “Yeah, fun how that works out, ain’t it? The things you just… pick up from places.”

“He’s talking about the Valhalla,” Tony put in. “In case you were curious about our involvement.” Fury had met Billie a couple of times.

“And I might know Fisk, Cross, and VonDoom… from around. We were neighbors. It was a bad neighborhood,” Scott said, nodding sagely. “They dropped in, recently.”

Tony rolled his eyes at the doublespeak. Steve put in, “Sco-- Mr. Concerned Citizen has been working at Dockside for a couple of months now. He’s been a model employee, I think the owners would agree.”

Tony was a little surprised to hear Steve say it. “We’ve had no complaints,” he said. “He’s a hard worker. We’d like to avoid this shit happening again, Nicky. They break his arm by way of ‘inducement’ and then we’re down a hand for at least a month, not to mention if they find out where he works, they’ll start harassing the other staff and the customers. Help us out, here.”

Fury was studying them like a kindergarten teacher who was trying to figure out which student had eaten all the library paste. “What evidence do you have? I can’t go to my captain without evidence. No warrants, no wiretaps, no patrol car keeping an eye on them. You willing to wear a wire and have a conversation, Mr. Citizen?”

Scott shuddered. “Snitches get stitches, Mr. Policeman,” he said. “You know how easy it is to sniff a wire these days? Man, there’s an app for that shit.”

“You’re awfully familiar with the wrong side of this business,” Fury commented, almost idly. “We can send a patrol car around to sit in your parking lot for a few days, Stark. That usually scares off a little bad element, but without something concrete, I can’t do anything with this, unless you’re willing to inside-man it. Which, I’m afraid to say, has some very high risks.”

“Yeah, like Wilson fucking Fisk is going to blow my goddamn head off if he thinks I turned traitor on him,” Scott pointed out.

“I can get you a vest to wear under your shirt,” Fury offered.

“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” Scott said. “He’s an asshole. Seriously, you--”

“Nick, what are you doing, man?” Steve interrupted.

“Come on, Nick,” Tony sighed. “He’s a friend of Bucky’s. You’re supposed to be in favor of ex-cons going straight and helping you out.”

Fury shifted his shoulders. “It’s a risk, all the way around, Stark. Rogers. Fisk’s… he’s dirty. He has dirty cops on his side. There was a huge Internal Affairs scandal after Fisk was put behind bars, but I don’t think they got everyone in the roundup. I’d have to hand-pick a team, keep it very quiet. Five, six guys, tops. And we’d have to do it last minute, so nothing leaked. I can’t guarantee your safety, Mr. Citizen. You could be caught in any crossfire if it goes badly. You still want to go straight?”

Scott, surprisingly enough, looked up at Steve, then said, “I have to stand up, or I’ll be running my whole life. Tell me what to do.”

“Well, the very first thing we need to do is lock this down. It’s between you three, me, and the fucking walls. _No one_ else. Talk spreads, and if we get a rumor on this, it’s going to put lives at risk,” Fury said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “So, you tell me, Mr. Citizen, what’s their plan?”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings on this chapter for a panic attack and a flashback containing violence and attempted rape. As always, take care of yourselves; if you need more information before proceeding, hit us up on Tumblr.

Bucky hauled the trash out to the dumpster. The trash guy hadn’t come in the morning, and that was a pain in the ass because it meant that the trash truck was going to be in the parking lot just before the dinner rush, which was a great way to turn off customers, as well as block some of the prime parking for a few minutes while they got the canister on the truck’s hooks. On the plus side, it meant he could get all the extra trash into the bin. Tuesday’s special was all-you-could-eat boil and peel shrimp and the lunch rush had been exceptionally busy. Usually Tuesday’s trash was in the dumpster for three days until the pick-up on Friday and especially in the summer, that attracted raccoons and other scavenging animals (including some feral cats) and it stank.

He tossed the bags into the bin, closed up the sides, and headed back toward the kitchen where he’d wash up and check how things were going.

“What are you doing here, Cross?” Scott’s voice, low, angry. Bucky frowned. He couldn’t see Scott, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that he was on the far side of his tatty old van from Bucky. He’d been out of work two days, and Bucky’d been taking it easy on him while he healed. Nat and her makeup compact had done wonders for Scott’s appearance and he wasn’t too beaten-looking to be out in front of customers. That was good, because now that they had an industrial dishwasher, they didn’t need someone who wasn’t cooking full-time in the kitchens.

Even if Steve had unexpectedly mellowed toward Scott in the last few days.

“Just stopping by,” a polished, upper-crust voice said. Bucky froze. No. No, he wasn’t hearing this right. Even Scott, with his dumb ideas and his big plans wouldn’t -- “Wilson thought you might need a little encouragement.”

“Yeah, well, toddle on back to Wilson and Victor, old chap,” Scott said. “I said I’d do the job. I’m gonna do it. But you can’t be ‘round here. I need my cover, man. You gotta be smooth. Someone might think you’re an amatuer.”

“You’re an ant, Lang,” Cross said. “And I’d like to squish you like the bug you are. But Wilson thinks we need you. And he thinks you’re loyal.”

“I _am_ loyal,” Scott said, his voice harsh.

“I guess we’ll see,” Cross said. “Don’t try to get clever. I’ve got my eye on you.”

“Get the fuck out of here before my boss sees you,” Scott said, blowing off Cross’s threat.

Bucky had, apparently, had panic attacks before, even if he didn’t know what they were called. While his mother was ill, a few times. After she’d died. He’d taken to getting shit-faced drunk to deal with it. It hadn’t really helped.

After he’d gotten out of jail, he’d had some compulsion problems: the need to open the door constantly, just because he could. A distaste for enclosed spaces -- for at least two years, it had been an act of will to walk into the kitchen’s big freezer.

Until Bucky had started seeing a therapist to deal with some of the fallout from Pierce’s fuckery, Bucky hadn’t known that they’d had a name. That other people had the same problem. That there were _solutions_ to those problems. Post traumatic stress wasn’t just for people who’d been to war. It was a body’s natural reaction to an unnatural situation. Trauma didn’t just mean war.

Bucky let himself slide down to the gravel lot, _quietly_ , even though Scott and Cross had walked off.

He scrabbled in his pocket for the little screwtop case of pills he kept; he’d had a few problems, after Pierce, just being in his office. He didn’t like taking the pills. Every time he took one, it felt like failure. Like his dad was sitting somewhere, judging him. But sometimes, he needed them. His pockets weren’t empty; keys, a pen, several wadded up receipts. A tube of chapstick. One of Billie’s Lego minifigs. But no pill case.

Bucky was shivering, despite the heat. Despite the sun pounding down on his skin. He was going to get a sunburn if he was out here much longer, but he couldn’t stop shivering. His heart was throbbing; it fucking hurt the way it beat inside his chest, like a caged animal trying desperately to get out.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t _breathe_.

***

_Fisk plucked him out of the exercise yard where Bucky was doing his best to be invisible. He didn’t have any cigarettes and he desperately wanted one, but he could only have some if someone who visited thought to bring him any. And Bucky didn’t want any visitors, not here. Not like this._

_There was a distraction, and even Bucky, who was three days fresh fish, knew that it was a distraction. A couple of guys got into a yelling, shoving match about something stupid, and the guards moved to break up the fight._

_Which let Fisk grab him and yank, pulling him off to the side, where the laundry room door was open. It shouldn’t have been, not at that time of day, and Bucky opened his mouth to yell, knowing,_ knowing _what was going to happen. Fisk backhanded him, a quick, angry blow. Stunning._

_Bucky was seeing spots. Fisk spun him around, shoving at him, hands wandering up and down Bucky’s body as he did so, until Bucky was so dizzy that he had to cling to Fisk’s bulk just to stay upright._

_The laundry room was hot. Wet. The smell of bleach and detergent was thick in the air._

_Fisk shoved him, and Bucky found himself caught up in strong arms._

“ _Oh, very pretty.” The man was one of the favored prisoners; Bucky’d been told about them. The ones who gave enough bribes to be allowed to wear clothes other than the ugly khaki jumpsuits. He had a pair of jeans, a green button-down shirt and a silver vest. Bucky shivered._

_The man ran a finger down Bucky’s cheek and he flinched away from it. He backed away and found himself trapped against the bulk of Fisk, who had appeared there, like a mobile wall._

_He didn’t know what made up Fisk’s enormous belly, but it sure as hell wasn’t fat. The man was roughly the size and shape of a beluga whale, but that rounded stomach was rock hard against Bucky’s back. There was no give in it, none at all._

_Fisk had a chair leg -- god only knew where he’d gotten it from -- and was pressing it across Bucky’s chest to keep him pinned._

“ _You don’t want to be doing that,” the man in the silver vest said. “Such a short time that you’ll be with us, and it can go easy for you, or it can go hard. And believe me, I don’t have any objections to doing things the hard way.”_

“ _You should listen to VonDoom,” said a third man. Jesus, what the fuck was this? Bucky swallowed down his dread. He didn’t have time for fear right now._

_Bucky’s eyes flicked from one to the next: VonDoom with that smug, superior smile, then the new man -- Cross, Bucky thought his name was, who was bald and wore a gang tattoo on the left side of his neck. Bucky couldn’t see Fisk, but only hear him, breath heavy and wheezy, like Steve’s had been once._

_The noise from the exercise yard was dying down. Time. What Bucky needed was more time. “What is it you want?”_

“ _I think you know,” VonDoom said. “You’re a pretty young man. I know you’ve had offers before.”_

_Bucky snorted, reaching for bravado. “Hell of a way to ask for a date, getting your muscle here to practically break my jaw.”_

_VonDoom rubbed at the scar on his face, a huge, ugly thing that ran from his forehead, across one eye, and down his cheek. He looked like he’d gotten attacked by an angry weed-whacker, one deep, silver tear and a few, smaller, lines next to it. “He thinks he’s being clever. Cross, show him what I think about clever people.”_

_Cross didn’t hit as hard as Fisk did, and Bucky supposed that was something to be grateful for. Fisk’s bulk was solid, unyielding. Cross hit him again. In the gut, forcing him to shudder and bend over the chair leg that Fisk was holding. Again, in the face._

“ _Careful, asshole,” Bucky spat, mouth dripping blood. “You hit me in the face too much, I won’t be near so pretty.”_

_He couldn’t go forward, couldn’t move back._

_Cross wound up to hit him again and Bucky did the only thing he could think of and it was probably stupid as hell. He grabbed the chair leg and let his legs give way under him, putting all his weight in gravity’s hands._

_The wood caught him just under the jaw as Fisk struggled with the sudden shift of balance, crushing his throat._

_Bucky gagged, twisted. The rush of oxygen was a sweet relief. He had the chair leg in his hands, and he was no longer pinned. He whirled, striking out. Caught Fisk in the ankle. The big man screamed and went to one knee with a crash. The floor in the laundry room was cement._

_Bucky scrambled backward, holding onto his weapon, raising it like he was back in high school, getting ready to knock a ball out of the fucking park._

_Cross rushed him. That was probably the last time he’d make that mistake. Bucky eyed the man’s chin like it was a fastball and swung._

_Cross went down and didn’t move. For a long moment, Bucky wondered if he’d killed the man by accident._

_Too long a moment. Frozen with panic, Bucky was an easy target. VonDoom grabbed the chair leg, yanked it away and threw it. Before Bucky quite knew what had happened, VonDoom had him bent over a laundry bin, arm wrenched up between his shoulder blades, shattering agony in his shoulder every time he moved._

_VonDoom kicked Bucky’s legs apart, pushed him down into the bin of still-wet towels, hot and smothering. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t get away…_

“ _Knock it off,” someone said, a new voice. VonDoom’s hand came away from his wrist with one final, agonizing jerk._

_Bucky staggered back, fell to the floor, gasping._

“ _Right,” the guard said, looking down. Disgusted. “Take your cronies and go, Vickie. Unless you want more solitary. I don’t got time to put up with your shit today. Come on, new fish.” He hauled Bucky to his feet, shoved him toward the far door. “Infirmary for you.”_

_Bucky looked back._

_VonDoom hadn’t moved. His arms were crossed over his chest and he glared. There was a promise in that look. One that spelled nothing good for Bucky._

“ _Luis,” the guard yelled, still prodding Bucky with his billy club, “got a live one for you. Check ‘is mouth while you’re at it, in case he needs the dentist.” The guard sighed. “You’re gonna be trouble, new fish. I don’t like trouble in my prison.”_

_A skinny guy looked over from one of the beds, light brown hair sticking up in all directions. “Hey, hey, Corrections Officer Robbie Reyes, good to see you man.”_

“ _Scottie.” The guard’s face lit up like he was greeting an old friend. “What idiocy did you get up to this time?”_

“ _Electrocuted myself, trying to set the lights up to strobe. Thought we’d have us a rave in the library, man,” Scott said. “What happened to the kid?”_

“ _VonDoom and his group of ass-aches happened.”_

_There was a flicker there, in Scott’s face, something human and warm and caring and Bucky had to raise his hand and press on the bruise on his face to keep from crying._

“ _Hey, hey, kid,” Scott said. “You got a name?”_

“ _Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice as gravely as if he’d been eating glass shards. “It’s Bucky.”_

“ _Tell you what, Bucky,” Scott said. “I got a penthouse deal on my floor, no celly, and it’s been awful boring. Why don’t you get Reyes here to get your stuff and we’ll move you in?”_

_Reyes rolled his eyes expressively. “You know Blaze is gonna make me fill out a shitton of paperwork for that.”_

“ _Why, Corrections Officer Reyes, are you telling me that Floor Supervisor Johnny Blaze is going to object to a little justice-and-revenge going on?”_

“ _Leave me out of it, Scottie,” Reyes said._

“ _Don’t you even worry about it,” Scott said. “I’ll get you set up with a little extra something sweet, Reyes.”_

_Reyes shrugged. “It’s on your head, Scottie,” he said. Luis, the medic, was poking at Bucky’s bruises, taking his blood pressure and shining a light in his eyes._

“ _Why?” Bucky asked, trying to look around Luis at Scott. “What do you get out of it?”_

“ _Loyalty,” Scott said. “Can you be loyal?”_

“ _I am loyal,” Bucky said._

“ _You be good to me, I’ll be good to you, Celly. That’s how it works, here in Azzano.”_

 


	14. Chapter 14

“Hey, Tony, you seen Bucky? He’s not in the office, and I need him to throw in a hand here for this wave.” Steve was half-swamped even though lunch was almost done. Shrimp day was profitable, but a lot of work.

“I thought he was taking out the trash just a bit ago,” Tony said. “I’ll go see if one of the bags broke on him or something.” He pushed out the back door and into the parking lot. “Bucky? Babe, you out here?”

At first, there was nothing. The sound of the surf was constant. Gulls soared overheard, their faint cries just background noise. Except. Tony glanced up, shielding his eyes from the sun. There weren’t any gulls. The sound was something else entirely.

Tony frowned, tipped his head, and cautiously followed the sound around the trash bin and toward the garage.

Bucky was curled up, knees drawn all the way up to his body, in the shadow of his truck. His back was against the tire. His finger were scraped along the knuckles, one hand in his hair, the other holding his knees. The noises coming from his throat were like an animal being tortured, soft and pleading.

“Bucky!” Tony dove to his knees beside his husband. “Bucky, baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt, what happened?”

Bucky shuddered all over; he was shivering, yet when he lifted his head, Tony could see his tee was soaked through with sweat. His eyes were huge, pupils tiny. “Tony? Wha…” He licked his lips, blinked, then coughed, hand going to his chest. “Hurts. How… how did I get in _here_?”

“Shit,” Tony hissed. He held out a hand, not quite sure he could touch Bucky yet. “What happened, honey? What’s wrong?”

“… he shouldn’t _be_ here. Shouldn’t be _here_. Not here, no, no, no.” He dropped his head again, onto his knees, and very quietly, “Forgot m’ meds. I’m cold, Tony. C’n you --” He opened one hand, made a weak beckoning gesture.

Tony wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him close, fumbling his phone out with one hand to fire off a text to Nat, asking her to run upstairs for Bucky’s pillbox. “I’m right here, baby, I’ve got you.”

“Heard his voice,” Bucky said, shuddering. He clung to Tony with one hand, the other one still curled protectively around his knees. “An’ it was like being back there, all over again. Swear I could practically smell it.”

The door opened and the rapid patter of Nat’s shoes against the floor before she came ‘round the front of the truck. “What has happened, Antonishka?” She handed him the pill bottle. “These are what you need?”

Tony checked the label quickly before opening it and dumping one out. “Yeah, it’s an anti-anxiety... Dunno if it’ll do any good after so long, but... I don’t know what happened.” He held out the pill so Bucky could take it. “Here’s your meds, honey. Take a deep breath.”

“I must go back inside,” Nat said, reluctantly. “It will do no one good if there are upset customers. They will come looking, eventually.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll text again if I need you, but I think I can handle it from here.” At least 60% lie, but what was Nat going to do that he couldn’t? “Thanks.”

“Nat?” Bucky’s neck twisted and he shifted enough to look up at Nat, then blushed, neck turning dark red. He buried his face in the shadow of Tony’s shoulder. “I don’t…” He twitched again and held out his hand for the pill, swallowed it dry. “He was… he was here. He shouldn’t be.”

Tony hugged him closer, still feeling lost. “Who?”

“Cross,” Bucky said. “Darren _fucking_ Cross was in my fucking parking lot. Th’ guy who did the hitting while someone else had your damn arms pinned.”

Oh, fuck. Fucking fuck. Cross must have come to jog Scott’s elbow, but if he was here... An icy chill ran down Tony’s spine. “Are you-- I mean, Did he see you? Are you hurt?” Tony barely resisted the urge to pat Bucky down in search of fresh injuries.

“I don’t think so,” Bucky said, slowly. “Didn’t say, ‘f he did.” Bucky rested his chin on his knees for a while, not talking, just breathing, and slowly, the shivers stopped.

Tony waited in silence for as long as he could stand it. Which probably wasn’t nearly long enough. Thank all the gods that Billie had already left for her vacation with Loki; trying to deal with her _and_ this would’ve been too stressful. “Feeling better now?”

“Christ, Tony, I…” Bucky took a deep breath, and then an entirely new expression crossed his face. Rage. Bucky jerked again, then almost knocked Tony over, getting to his feet. “Where is he?” He stared around, body tense like he was expecting an attack at any second. “God damn it, I… fuck. _Fuck_.” His hand curled into a fist and his arm flexed like he wanted to hit something. “ _Scott_.” He said that name like another curse word. “Son of a bitch.”

“What?” Oh, shit, no, this couldn’t be happening. Tony stood up, feeling like he was moving through molasses. “Bucky, honey...”

Bucky was always, always graceful, quick on his feet. Now, he was like greased lightning. He didn’t even pause, just whirled on his toes and strode out of the garage, every line in his body screaming havok. By the time he hit the kitchen door, Tony was several feet behind him and running to try to catch up.

“Lang, you… you piece of shit,” Bucky snarled.

Scott dropped the broom he was holding and backed up hastily. “Hey, hey, Celly, man --”

“Don’t you fucking call me that,” Bucky snapped. He backed Scott up against the wall, fist bunching in Scott’s shirt. “You’re _done here_. I said one chance and I fucking meant it. Get out of my place.”

“What, what, what, man, what?” Scott’s eyes were wide, terrified, trapped.

“ _Darren Cross_ was in my fucking parking lot, is what,” Bucky growled. “I wanted to help you. I wanted to _believe_ you. And you’re doing a _job.”_

Tony cast a desperate look at Steve, who looked almost as distressed as Tony felt, but also just as helpless. Fury had sworn them all to utter secrecy. He had stressed that if _anyone_ else found out about the sting, it was off. And it _needed_ to not be off, because now at least one of them knew about Dockside, and whether they knew it belonged to Bucky or not, it was not safe.

But without spilling everything, what the hell could they do? “Bucky, honey, calm down,” Tony tried. “Just a little.”

“You brought him here,” Bucky repeated. “Are you _loyal_ , Scott, because fuck you. Fuck you. I tried to help you, and you do this? You’re gonna be lucky if they don’t shoot you when you’re done. I can’t. I can’t. Get out, go. GO!”

Bucky let go of Scott’s shirt, shoved him in the direction of the door.

Scott stared for a few moments, probably only a handful of heartbeats. Opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Or maybe cry. It was hard to tell. Then he nodded. Tony didn’t want to describe it that way, but there wasn’t better word. Scott slunk out of the kitchen like a whipped dog, metaphorical tail between his legs.

Bucky drew in a few long, deep breaths, staring at nothing.

Tony looked at him, looked at Steve. Steve’s mouth was twisted into a bitter grimace, but still had no obvious answer. Tony still didn’t quite dare to reach out to touch Bucky. “Baby?”

“You can tell me you told me so later,” Bucky said. He was panting for breath, but slowed down, slower. His fists unclenched. “Just… I’m fine, stop hovering. Give me a minute, I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t going to--” Tony’s lips pressed together around the words. Bucky had pulled a one-eighty and was now in one of those moods where he was trying to pick a fight, and they didn’t have _time_ for a shouting match now, not least because he’d just fired their busboy. How the hell were they supposed to even get in touch with Scott, now? The man didn’t have a phone.

“Christ,” Bucky swore. “I. Tony, I’m _sorry_. You were right. I was wrong. I’m… I’m… _Darren Cross_ in my fucking parking lot! Jesus. It… he. He was right there. No further away from me than Steve is now.” He made a hiccuping noise almost like a sob, then… “I’m gonna be sick.” And he bolted for the staff bathroom across the hall from his office.

Tony looked at Steve again. “Well, fuck.”

Steve grimaced, put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “It’s almost over,” he said, soft.  “Everyone can yell at us later. After…”

Tony nodded. “After. In the meantime, I’d better go check on Bucky.” He reminded himself that he would have been 100% on Bucky’s side, here, if he hadn’t known what Scott was really up to, and then followed his husband into the bathroom. “Honey?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He was sitting on the floor looking like Howard had after a particularly long bender, hair in his face, pale and shaking. He reached over and flushed the toilet, then leaned back against the wall, just breathing. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Tony said. One of these days, he’d get Bucky to stop apologizing for having weaknesses. He pulled a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and soaked them in cold water then handed them to Bucky. “It’s a shock.”

“It is,” Bucky agreed. He wiped his face clean. Leaned over and spat in the toilet. “Ug. Well, I guess I just made sure we got our work cut out for us, today.” He used the wall to push himself up to his feet, rinsed his mouth out. He got both hands wet, washed his face and slicked his hair back. “Look, I’ll bus and sweep today, shouldn’t have to have you doing it because I’m an idiot. If you can close out the books in the evening for me, that’d be… that would be a lot of help.”

“You’re not an idiot, and of course I’ll do whatever I can to help. It’s my place, too, remember?” Tony tried on a reassuring smile.

Bucky stared at his reflection for a few minutes, hands gripping the side of the sink, and if there was a physical effort involved in boxing up and putting away bad memories, Tony saw it there in Bucky’s face. By the time he was done doing whatever the fuck he was doing, Bucky looked almost normal. That carefree, easy smile came back to his face, his color got better.

It was almost, nauseatingly, like watching his mother after Howard had humiliated her in front of her friends at a dinner party. She’d sat there, speechless, for a long moment, just blinking, as if Howard had slapped her. And then she’d smiled, and gone on with the evening as if _nothing had happened_.

Tony was torn between appreciating how useful it was to be able to push everything aside -- especially when they were going to have to be dealing with customers for the rest of the day -- and feeling sick at the thought of how much practice it took to get that good at that sort of fronting, and how hard it was going to be to get Bucky to come _back_ to it, later.

At the very least, he could remind Bucky that he _knew_ it was a front. “Public face ready,” he said, showing off his own _the customer is always right_ smile. “Let’s get to it.”

“As long as you love me,” Bucky said. He laced his fingers with Tony’s really quick, squeezed, and then let go. “I can get through anything.”

Well _that_ sounded ominous. “Always,” Tony promised.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the smut-averse: This chapter is at least half smut (depending on where you consider it "starting"). Nothing plot-significant happens afterward, so feel free to skip.

Bucky was very, very tired of the inside of his own skull.

The landscape in there kept bouncing around. More than once, he’d blinked, opened his eyes, and not been entirely sure what he’d been doing for the past ten minutes. Aside from Tony, however, no one seemed to notice, which meant Bucky wasn’t having to scramble for an explanation that he could not have provided at all.

He knew the routine around Dockside well enough to do it in his sleep, which turned out to be a damned good thing.

Circle the dining room. “Can I take that out of your way, ma’am?”

Circle again with the minibroom and sweep up a whole basket of fries that ended up under the picnic tables. Got coloring mats and crayons for the kids. Wiped down the tables.

He’d been doing it his whole life.

Picked up the crayon stubs and put them in his waist-apron pocket. Billie had been talking about doing some crayola oven art at some point, so having spare crayons would be good for that.

Wrapped silverware.

Loaded and unloaded the dishwasher.

Called Clint and arranged for a few days of Clint bussing while they looked for a new employee. Dockside had just gotten really busy in the last few years. It had never been dead, at least during the summer, but the place’s popularity had picked up since Tony had taken the publicity under his wing as his own project. It had been really good, having an extra hand around--

Bucky shut the door on that thought. It wasn’t worth it.

Finally, though, the floor was clear, the prep for tomorrow was done. Billie was on vacation with her father, spelunking. So he didn’t have to worry about that, which was great. Locked up the kitchen and set the alarm. Watched out of habit as Tony climbed up the stairs.

Felt an almost entirely unexpected jolt of heat at the sight.

It wasn’t, he reasoned with himself, that he _forgot_ Tony was so gorgeous, or that he didn’t notice Tony’s ass on pretty much an hourly basis. Just… walking up the stairs, the flex of thigh and buttocks, outlined by the back porch light and a silver thread of moon in the sky, Tony was so beautiful in his exhaustion and careless walk that Bucky had to grab the rail to the stairs. The sight made him weak in the knees.

Tony glanced over his shoulder as he opened the door, and had to blink and look around to find Bucky, still only a few steps up instead of right behind him. “Hey, babe, you okay?”

“Just admirin’ the view,” Bucky said, giving Tony a quick grin. He pulled himself up the stairs until he was right up in Tony’s personal space. He cupped a hand to the side of Tony’s face. “It’s a classic, never goes out of style.”

Tony huffed and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Just checking. You’ve been a little out of it tonight. Not that I blame you, but...” He shivered a little as he pushed through the door.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Today’s been tough.” He pushed the door closed behind them. He was weirdly fond of his front door. One of his best memories was kissing Tony stupid up against it. They’d just been starting their relationship and it was still one of the sweetest kisses he could remember. Feeling oddly nostalgic, he caught Tony’s hand and pulled Tony into an embrace. “Wanna try an’ make it better?”  

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky willingly, though he searched Bucky’s face for a moment before letting his lips curve, just a little. “I could be convinced. Did you have something in mind?”

“I do, actually,” Bucky said, letting the heat of it shiver through him. “You’ve been dealin’ with my bullshit all day --” he pressed his finger to Tony’s mouth to keep him from interrupting, because he knew Tony, and Tony would absolutely try to talk him out of taking blame. Blame that Bucky knew he deserved. “-- and I know that’s been hard. Not fun, at all. We’re partners. So, let me take a load off you for a while, baby. Take care of you, make you feel good. Special. Because you are, you know that, right, baby? That I appreciate everything you do for me, everything you are.” He was absent-mindedly drawing circles on Tony’s neck, down his shoulder, one finger, constantly moving.

Tony’s head tipped, stretching, offering and inviting more of that gentle touch. “Of course I do,” he said, and that was a small miracle in itself, Tony accepting Bucky’s love so easily.  “You sure you don’t want to turn that around, though? You’ve had a damn rough day, yourself.” He reached up to trace the shell of Bucky’s ear, smiling.

“It’s been a terrible day,” Bucky agreed. “An’... I want to do somethin’ that goes right. Whatever makes you happy, Tony. Let me love you, the best I can, hmmm?” He turned Tony, pressed him against the door and kissed him, letting that warm feeling of nostalgia, of memory, drape over him like a blanket. Here, here, _here_ , was where everything had started. Everything in his life that was worth a damn started right here. How had he kissed Tony, that time? Rough, urgent, hungry. Scared that Tony was going to say no, wanting him to say yes. Knowing that he had to tease and be careful, because Tony’d been through so much, carried a weight of fear and negative expectations that Bucky couldn’t bear to live down to. So, he’d kissed Tony like the world was going to disappear, like Tony was the most precious thing in it. Kissed him like a promise.

Tony melted into the kiss, surrendering his mouth to Bucky’s urgency and wrapping his fingers with Bucky’s hair. He hummed and sighed, and then moaned and gasped as he caught up, matching Bucky’s hunger with his own.

Bucky pulled back a little, to breathe, to trace a finger over Tony’s kiss-swollen lips, down his chin. Made a bee line down his chest right for the zipper on his jeans. Ran a hand over the front of Tony’s pants. Tucked his fingertips in the front pockets and pulled them closer. Rolled his hips. God, the noises Tony made, always so perfect. Like they were designed to encourage and arouse. Bucky tipped Tony’s head back a little, nuzzled at the underside of his chin, running his tongue over those rough prickles, the edges of Tony’s beard and a day’s worth of stubble. “Come on,” he urged, “Let’s take this to the bedroom.” As if Bucky wasn’t the one pinning Tony in the corner.

“Mm, good idea,” Tony managed. He had to visibly take a breath and steel himself to push away from the door, like he wasn’t entirely sure he could stand on his own. But then he did, nudging Bucky back half a step and twisting to saunter past. He paused, halfway across the room, to throw a hot glance at Bucky over his shoulder, heavy-lidded eyes and wicked smile, and when he continued on his way, he was putting some very deliberate extra sway into his hips.

 _Hnnnnngh_. Honestly, Bucky would have followed Tony through a fire, just to be able to look at him. The way he moved was just… yeah. Bucky chased after him, caught Tony ‘round the waist just as he’d crossed into their bedroom. For once, they seemed to be operating in perfect tandem, scrambling out of their clothes, not taking their time, but also not getting fouled up in zippers and buttons, just eager to get that skin-to-skin contact. Bucky pushed Tony over onto the bed and then flopped next to him, bouncing them both a little until Tony rolled into the dent that Bucky’s weight made. “Hey there.”

“Hey there, yourself, gorgeous,” Tony said, laughing. He pushed up onto his elbow to look down at Bucky. “God, look at you. Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

There were times when Bucky doubted that; he often didn’t feel like he deserved Tony, and here Tony was, making the same claim. Bucky was trouble, he was always putting his heart in front of his head and making messes that he didn’t know how to clean up, and Tony was infinitely patient with him. _Not tonight_ , Bucky told that nasty little voice. _I don’t have to listen to you right now._

“Yeah, I don’t know, either,” Bucky said, doing his best to sound conceited and arrogant and joking all at the same time. “I mean, there’s just…” He pushed himself up on one elbow and traced his fingers over Tony’s face, smoothing out his eyebrows. “Beautiful eyes, so rich an’ warm and all these laugh lines, I mean, babe. You’re tan half the time, an’ they’re like little starbursts on your skin, so cute. And gorgeous, perfect nose, very adorable, the way it arcs up just a little here at the end. Beautiful mouth.” He kissed Tony, soft and easy, pulling back as soon as Tony tried to deepen it. “I just can’t see it… nope, not at all. You musta lost the lottery to end up with me.”

Tony mock-huffed. “You’re mispronouncing it. It’s _woooonnnnnn_.” He dragged it out, grinning. “I got this beautiful guy -- eyes like the ocean and a smile that makes me feel all warm and happy. And your hair is so stupidly soft; I don’t even know how that’s possible, you don’t even put conditioner in it. Don’t even get me _started_ on your mouth or we’re going to be here all night. I used to dream about watching you bite your lips and then lick them and I’d wake up hard as a damn rock.” He trailed a finger over Bucky’s shoulder, following some line only he could see. “Muscles for days. I always make you change out the beer kegs because I like to watch your arms and your back. Nng. And even better than all that?” He laid his hand flat against Bucky’s chest. “You’re the nicest, most generous, _kindest_ man I’ve ever met.” He tipped his head up and nuzzled against Bucky’s cheek before kissing it. “I win, for sure.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, then cut himself off, because he didn’t like Tony talking himself down, either, so he might as well just take the fucking compliments. “Well, if you win, guess I’d better surrender,” he said. He nuzzled at Tony’s neck -- god, he loved Tony’s skin, it was unbelievably soft and supple -- then worked his way down, licking and tasting Tony’s collarbone. He let his teeth scrape along the ridge there, eliciting a shiver and a moan. Tony made love like a complete wanton; he was rarely quiet, even when they really should have been. Bucky fucking loved it. He loved the noises that Tony made, the way he reacted to each and every touch. It gave Bucky a very solid sense of masculine pride, wringing those noises out him, knowing that Bucky was responsible for those heavily-lidded looks, those blown pupils.

Tony flopped back onto his back and spread his arms out, inviting Bucky to touch and taste and tease. It was an invitation that Bucky couldn’t even think of resisting. Tony moaned again when Bucky’s tongue flicked over a nipple, back arching, and then he moaned again, louder. “No kid,” he said, already breathless. “Don’t have to try to be quiet.” He grinned up at the ceiling as if there were some great joke written there. “I know you like to make me scream, mm?”

“You know I do,” Bucky said. “Love _knowin’_ you love what I do to you. _Feelin’_ it.” Tony made such a pretty picture, spread out on the bed. He worked his way down Tony’s body, kissing, licking, touching. Spent just a little longer than might have been necessary examining and nuzzling at the palm of Tony’s hand, loving the way his fingers curled around Bucky’s jaw like a starfish. Sucked on his finger. Down again to that bruise on Tony’s hip that he loved so much, flicked his tongue over the abused skin, not biting down this time, just teasing until Tony was wriggling under him.

“Bucky,” he whined, “please...” He slipped his fingers through Bucky’s hair and tightened his grip, tugging ever so gently. “God, _more_ , honey, please, I need...” He rolled his hips, trying to find friction and warmth, crooked his knee to hook his leg around Bucky’s hip, pulling insistently.

Bucky usually liked to tease, draw it out as long as possible, make Tony wait and writhe and swear and beg. Wind them both up like springs, stoking a slow burn to ignite at the very end. Bucky shifted a little, glanced down. Tony was shifting, a little. Rubbing himself against Bucky’s thigh in short, urgent strokes. “Yeah?” He licked his finger and traced the wet surface against Tony’s cock, straight down, from head to balls. “You want more. You need it? Now?”

Tony’s breath hitched and he arched into the touch. “Yes,” he panted. “Need you, want you now, want you so much. Bucky, _please_.”

Bucky allowed himself a dark, needy laugh. “Okay, babydoll,” he said. “Get me the lube and get on your knees.”

Tony groaned and scrambled to roll over, fishing blindly for the lube in the drawer with one hand and shoving the pillows around with the other. He found the lube and tossed it over his shoulder; it bounced off his back and he yelped in surprise, but didn’t stop wriggling until he’d arranged the pillows to his satisfaction. He folded his arms and put his head down, and pushed that perfect ass up into the air, knees spread wide. His whole body was practically quivering with anticipation.

 _Jesus._ So much for drawing out the actual fucking by not letting himself get too wound up. Tony… dear god. Bucky ran a quick, exploratory finger around the circle of muscle around Tony’s opening, teasing at it, trying to let the soft sounds Tony was making just flow over him like water. Lubed his finger and went again, swirling and pressing, waiting until Tony pushed back against him to let himself breach. It hadn’t been too long, Bucky decided, the muscle was loosening up under just one finger. He pushed two in, slow. “You okay?”

Tony shuddered a little, but pushed back again, testing. “Yeah,” he panted. “Yeah, baby, that’s... that’s perfect, keep going.”

Bucky had to not watch, good lord, Tony was so fucking eager that it was twisting and twitching around in Bucky’s gut. He picked a plain, boring spot on the wall and stared at it, working Tony open by feel, twisting his wrist and scissoring out until the ring of muscle let go. He usually did three, but Tony could probably take it with a little burn. He was the one begging for more, and damn, Bucky wanted to give it to him. “Squeeze down on my fingers, huh? Help you open up a little faster and then I’m going to lube up and fuck you right into the mattress.”

“You’re not-- Oh, _fuck_ yes.” Tony wriggled around some more, settling his position, and that squeeze -- Jesus, it was like everything was hardwired straight to Bucky’s dick. “Come on,” Tony said, “come on and give it to me, I want you in me, want to feel it.” He twisted around to look at Bucky over his shoulder, hungry and hot.

Bucky slicked himself, kneeling between Tony’s legs. He pressed the head of his cock against Tony’s hole, so hot, god, it was like snuggling up against a furnace. Teased Tony (and himself) a little by rubbing at the entrance, little nudges, not pushing in at all, just listening to the hitching breath, the eager moans. “You want it?” He added another dollop of lube, then used the tip of his dick, just a little bit, to push the lube into Tony.

Tony whimpered and tried to push back, growling in frustration when Bucky wouldn’t let him. “Please,” he panted, “Bucky, honey. Please, I need you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, again. He shivered, ran his fingers down Tony’s back, light and teasing, raising ripples of gooseflesh. “Yeah, you want it. Love you, love you so much, sugar.” He waited, just pushing in a little, pulling back out, listening to the pattern of Tony’s breathing, matching his strokes. In and out, quick. “Take a deep breath, let it out slow.”

Tony nodded, letting his head drop back down to his forearms. His back rose a little with the breath, making the muscle there slide and shift. God, he was beautiful, compact and strong and lithe. He breathed out, a soft hiss of air through his teeth, steady and slow.

Bucky shifted his grip on Tony’s hips, then let himself push in, with Tony’s exhale. Slow, steady, but all the way, a slick, glorious slide, and oh, god, that felt so fucking fine. He bottomed out, balls firm against Tony’s ass, just as Tony was starting to hitch his breath in again. “There we go,” Bucky said, then clenched his teeth as Tony inhaled, shifting them subtly. “I got you, Tony, I got you.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, shaky. “You always do, baby. Oh, god that’s good, but tight, gotta gimme... Gimme a sec, here.” He shifted a little, adjusting, and Bucky damn near died. “Okay, there, I think, I’m... Okay,” he said. “I’m good.”

“You’re _perfect_ ,” Bucky said -- tried to say. Maybe he even managed words, he wasn’t sure. He shuddered as Tony quivered around him, muscles squeezing down. Bucky held himself still, even though everything in him was screaming for him to move, to thrust, to… he _waited_ , goddamn it, until Tony was adjusted. When Tony’s hips shifted, Bucky moved with him, slow, easy strokes, changing the angle, listening. One hand on Tony’s hip, the other one on the small of his back. His hips rocked, falling into the rhythm of his need.

Tony’s breath came harsh, half a whimper on every exhale, until he rolled his spine a little, rocking back, and, “Oh, _god_ ,” he groaned, “there, that-- Oh, _fuck_ , Bucky, _move_.”

His desire spiraled up until Bucky was certain that he couldn’t bear it any more, and then Tony would make another one of those delicious little noises, and Bucky thought he could go forever, just to keep wringing those sounds out of Tony. His fingers dug into Tony’s hip, moving with Tony’s strokes now, letting Tony push back into it. Tony was going to end up with a hell of a hand print on his thigh because Bucky honestly didn’t think he could loosen his hold.

Tony didn’t seem to care, anyway. He had shifted his grip on the bedding and was driving himself back onto Bucky’s cock with enough force that Bucky would have worried was too much if Tony hadn’t also been moaning and gasping and keening with each hard thrust.

It was too much, too overwhelming, the feel of Tony around him, the sounds that Tony was making. Bucky felt himself shuddering toward completion. No, no, too soon. He… pulled himself backward, and when Tony whimpered at the loss, he slid his fingers in that gaping, quivering hole. It wasn’t quite the same thing, but… “Shhh, shhh,” he said, turning his wrist and reaching for that spot inside Tony that was going to make him wail. “I got you, I… wanna see your face when you come, baby. Can you roll over for me?” He teased, a little, knowing it was hard for Tony to move when he crooked his finger just like that, running the tip of his finger over Tony’s prostate, rubbing and pushing.

“I-- Oh, _oh_ fuck, fuck, I...” Tony groaned. Every time he tried to move, Bucky crooked his finger again, and Tony shuddered and stammered. “You-- nnnnohgod, Bucky, you’re _evil_ , I can’t--” Bucky finally relented just enough for Tony to push himself over onto his back and untangle their legs. “Okay, come on, back in me, I need...”

“That’s good, just like that, oh, Tony, oh, baby, you’re so, so hot, I--” Bucky was practically incoherent with need and Tony was wriggling around and it was so very much not helping, dear god. He finally practically fell on the man to pin him down, took a bite of Tony’s shoulder, then pushed himself back in. Tony’s fingers dug into his back, a sizzle of scratches along the skin there, and Bucky didn’t really care, could barely feel it as anything other than an urge to move again. There was nothing else, except the delicious pressure of Tony’s body clamping down around him, grabbing him, sucking him in.

Tony’s breath hitched and caught, caught again and he was moaning, his body lifting to meet Bucky’s thrusts. His fingers dug in harder on one hand as he freed the other, working it between their bodies to grab at his cock, working it frantically. A stream of cursing and pleas and begging and demands fell from his lips, and Bucky kissed them away, sloppy and wet and desperate.

Bucky rocked, taking Tony’s kisses, thrusting his tongue into Tony’s mouth. His breath came in short, harsh snaps as he rutted, each thrust pushing harder, further. He groaned, hooked Tony’s legs around his back, changed the angle of his slide until Tony was moaning almost continuously. He shifted, back and forth, the friction whipping him into insensibility. Finally, finally, he was there, on the very edge. Tony’s body tightened, coiled. Bucky was certain he couldn’t wait any longer, not even a second. The very precipice edge of it, and he threw his head back with the force of it.

Tony shouted and his entire body seemed to clamp down, to tighten, trying to draw Bucky closer, deeper. The tension held for a long moment, body shaking with strain, and then Tony collapsed, boneless, each gasping breath halfway to a sob as he fought for air. “God, I love you.”

Bucky kissed him a few times, open mouthed, wanting that closeness, the taste of Tony’s breath and sweat. “You’re amazing, you know that,” he said. His arms were all shivery, the muscles feeling like slightly underfilled bags of water. He groaned and rolled off of Tony. He twined his fingers with Tony’s, snuggled up against Tony’s side. He was a little chilled, the air conditioning turning his sweat into an uncomfortable shine, but not quite cold enough to go through the effort of figuring out where the hell the edge of the blanket was and getting under it. He reached backward with his free hand and pulled the side of the blanket over them like a burrito.

“Mm,” Tony agreed, pressing into Bucky’s warmth. “Best husband you’ve ever had.”

“No question ‘bout that,” Bucky said, matter of fact. “Only one I’ve ever had. It’s a low bar to get over, babe.” He nuzzled Tony’s throat. “But I couldn’t have a better one, even if I had all the time in the world to look.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: This chapter contains an abbreviated discussion of attempted sexual assault and Bucky not talking about things that, maybe, he should talk about to someone.
> 
> As always, hit us up on tumblr if you want more details and take care of your own mental health.

Tony was in the shower when he suddenly remembered: _tonight_.

The job was tonight, unless the plans had changed in the couple of days since Bucky had fired Scott, but if they had, surely he’d have found a way to get word to them. Right?

 _Right_?

Tony closed his eyes and tried to swallow his sudden jitters. He had a whole day to get through, first. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Bucky was still not sleeping well. Tony had woken to an already-cold bed, and while Bucky often woke before him, it wasn’t usually quite _that_ long before.

He managed to steady his hands enough to shave, and then checked the towel around his hips was secure and went in search of his husband.

The smell of crepes was in the air as Tony entered the hall, combined with coffee. And sausages. And… Tony inhaled. Was that lingonberry sauce?

Bucky was in the kitchen, coffee cup in one hand while he flipped a crepe on the griddle. The pot was close to empty, but there was a second mug sitting near the sink with a saucer on top to keep the heat in. Bucky scooped the crepe onto a platter, added a ladle full of sauce to it and folded it over into a pretty triangle, shaking a bit of powdered sugar on top. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said, not looking around.

Tony looked at the heaping pile of dirty dishes in the sink. “How long have you been up?” He stretched up onto his toes to kiss Bucky’s cheek, then picked up the waiting coffee mug.

“What time is it now?” Bucky asked, like it was no big deal. He went to take a sip of his coffee and peered in disgusted surprise at the empty cup.

“Um.” Tony checked his phone. “Almost nine.”

Bucky refilled his cup, which emptied the pot, and took a quick gulp, still black. “About six hours, then.”

Tony hesitated. “Baby, we went to bed at one. And, y’know, to _sleep_ closer to two.”

Bucky flipped another crepe. “I know. I just… I ain’t sleepin’ anyway, just hard to _lay_ there.”

Tony sighed and wrapped his free arm around Bucky’s waist, pressing himself against Bucky’s back. “Could’ve woken me up so you weren’t wandering the house alone.”

“Could have _tried_ , maybe,” Bucky said, “didn’t want th’ neighbors to think there was an earthquake. You got any idea how hard you are to wake up, babydoll?”

Tony swallowed a laugh. “Asshole,” he accused affectionately. “I’m not that bad, except when you _wear me out_ like that.” He planted a kiss between Bucky’s shoulder blades, and backed up to lean against the wall. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Here, have a crepe,” Bucky said, handing Tony a plate. He’d never been quite as ridiculous as Steve was; when Steve wanted to impress someone, or distract himself, he whipped out some of his fancy chef tools. Tony’d gotten one meal that was all microgastronomy cooking, which had been weirdly out of place for Sandbridge, although Steve could have probably cut it at one of the mid-tier places in Manhattan. But still, the breakfast was impressive. Bucky had put together a bowl of carved melon and strawberries, all cut into flowers, three crepes with another strawberry rosette, and three links of sausage. “I don’t know, just… nervous, I guess. Keep looking over my shoulder, ‘specting Fisk to be there, big as life, twice as ugly.”

“That’s not the guy who was here a couple of days ago,” Tony said, partly because he didn’t want Bucky to realize Tony knew the names, and partly because he was morbidly curious whether Bucky’s story would match Scott’s -- not that he thought Scott would have lied, exactly, but... smoothed it out a little, perhaps.

Bucky coughed out a bitter-sounding laugh. “No, he’s the guy who almost killed me with a chair leg.” Bucky traced a line just under his jaw. “Bruised like a motherfucker. Thought Steve was gonna storm Azzano all by his lonesome when he saw it. Like, what the fuck, even, was one guy gonna do? Punk.” He fixed himself a plate. Tried to drink out of an empty coffee cup. Again. Grumbled.

“That’s Steve for you,” Tony agreed. “So if that was Fisk, who’s... Cross?”

Bucky started the coffee-maker. “Back in Azzano, we called ‘em the Trinity. Father, son and the holy fuck.” He watched as the coffee dribbled into the pot. “Fisk was the muscle, an’ the man with all the contacts. They call him Kingpin, sometimes. He used to… well, there was a whole neighborhood that pretty much answered to him. Slum lord, drug dealer. Hookers. Protection money. The whole racket. People don’t believe that, down here, sometimes. They think you have to go north to get ‘organized crime.’” He made air quotes.

“Or south,” Tony agreed. “Drug-running in Miami, et cetera. But yeah, okay. There’s three of them?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. He drifted off a bit, eyes on some point that wasn’t anywhere near Dockside or their kitchen. “VonDoom was the third. I dunno. He had something over the other two, they did what he said. He… he, uh. Thought I was pretty.”

Tony’s stomach turned over, even if it wasn’t entirely unexpected. “Fuck. Sorry, I don’t... You don’t have to tell me, I just, if you saw that guy. Heard him. Whatever. I’m a little worried.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Bucky said. He poked at his plate, leaning against the kitchen counter, leg jiggling, too restless to sit down. “Cross mentioned them both. They’re _all_ out. VonDoom scares the shit out of me.”

Tony nodded. He wanted to tell Bucky that there was a plan, that VonDoom and his minions would be back in prison soon. He couldn’t. But it was tonight, and then they could tell everyone.

Tony was looking forward to it. He wasn’t cut out for this spies and secrets bullshit.

“Azzano,” Bucky said. “It was like… deceptive. Looked like a high school, almost. Wasn’t like maxsec places. We had television. Common rooms. Hell, half the time the floors were on open-wander. Library. Cafeteria. But all that was… just superficial. Too many places for people to hide, wait for you to walk by. Gang fights, kept quiet. Guards were easy to bribe to look th’ other way. I was… popular. But also lucky, I think. VonDoom, he… made a claim. Wasn’t anyone else gonna touch me, not without his say so, ‘cept Scott kept VonDoom away.” He laughed, a little. “Scott had this friend, Peaches. Big guy, _huge_. You didn’t mess with Peaches unless you wanted to eat a fist the size of a canned ham. And Peaches, he… he didn’t hold with rapist bastards.”

“Well, thank god for that,” Tony said, shakily. He reached for Bucky’s hand, needing that touch, that reassurance.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said. He let Tony pull him into a hug, cupped Tony’s head and held it against his waist. “Almost only counts in horseshoes and handgrenades. They got hold of me once, and I near to took Cross’s head off before VonDoom got a grip on my arm. Guard broke that up. An’ VonDoom, one time, alone.” Bucky shuddered. “Broke my fingers, that time and --” He looked down at the soft, wounded noise that Tony couldn’t quite contain. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t let me talk about this, look at you, sweetheart. God, I’m sorry.” He dropped to one knee and pulled Tony into his arms.

Tony tucked his head against Bucky’s neck and breathed in the scent of him, warm and sweet with the powdered sugar and a little hint of sweat and sex lingering from the previous night. Real. Solid. Whole. _Tonight_ , he promised himself, _tonight I’ll tell him everything, no matter how it goes._ “I’m,” he managed around the knot in his throat, “I’m glad Scott helped you out.”

“Anything else,” Bucky said fervently, “and I could have forgiven him. But bringing Cross _here_? It’ll be okay. They don’t have any reason to come back, and in a few months, this’ll just all be a bad memory.” He kissed Tony’s hair. “It’ll be okay.”

Tony wondered who Bucky was trying to convince.

***

“Hey, hey, hey, Tony!” Steve said. “I have a surprise for you!”

Steve looked… weirdly gleeful and that was almost worrisome. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a battered paper brochure. The top center was the logo for the Naro, an ancient and rather decrepit theater in downtown Norfolk.

Tony took the brochure and scanned it -- the theater was running a marathon of old B-rate science fiction movies, MST3000 style. A couple of them were advertised with a shadowcast, and the proceeds from ticket sales were going to charity. Tony flicked a glance at Steve, who was holding that weird, gleeful grin a touch too hard.

For just a second, Tony was furious at VonDoom and his gang for setting up their operation to conflict with this, because he kind of wanted to actually _go_. “This looks _amazing_ ,” he said truthfully. “Think we can talk the slave-driver into letting us go?” He tipped his head and fluttered his eyelashes at Bucky.

Bucky glanced at the calendar. “ _Flash Gordon_? And _Plan Nine from_ … bad taste confirmed. Oh, my god, Tony, _really_? Really.”

Tony put his nose in the air. “Says the line-dancing karaoke dork,” he said haughtily. “This is _high entertainment_ , this is the _golden age of science fiction_ , this is the inspiration of a whole _generation_ of astrophysicists and actual rocket scientists. Heathen.”

“It’s _Flash Gordon_ ,” Bucky said, like that explained everything. “I’m gonna buy you one of those Ming the Merciless Pop figures.” It did not escape Tony’s attention that Bucky not only knew who Ming was, but that he had his own Pop figure.

“Billie will just steal it and make it pilot her spaceship or something,” Tony said. “C’mon, Bucky, you’ve gotta let Steve and me go. Please please please?”

Bucky pointed a finger at Tony, then at Steve. “No…” He waited a beat for Tony’s mouth to drop open in protest, before adding, “singing the _Flash Gordon_ theme music in my kitchen. Is that _clearly_ understood?”

Tony flung his arms around Bucky’s neck and kissed him thoroughly. “I owe you the best blowjob,” he promised.

“You don’t get to do that in the kitchen, either,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips. Steve was weirdly protective of his kitchen. It made Tony want to blow Bucky in the kitchen _anyway_. Or maybe, in spite of. Something.

“No promises!” Tony said, and grinned at Steve, only a little subdued when he remembered that they weren’t _actually_ going to the show, but to pace Nick Fury’s office while they waited to hear the news.

The afternoon passed at a crawl, which was annoying, given how busy the damn restaurant was. Tony’d filled four hundred cups of tea, carried thousands of buckets back to the dishwasher, comped one meal because of a flick of shrimp tail in someone’s salad (and really, what did people expect, eating fresh shellfish?), sang Happy Birthday not once but _three_ times, and cleaned up one case of drank too many margaritas in the ladies room. By the time Steve tapped him on the shoulder at seven thirty, Tony was damn near exhausted.

Which explained why he was struck dumb when Steve shoved a motorcycle helmet in his hand. It was silver and had a red star on the left side. “Um. What?”

“I’m not walking to Colonial,” Steve said, by way of explanation. “That’s Bucky’s old brain bucket. Put it on or we’re not going anywhere.”

“We’re... we’re taking the bike?” For some reason, Tony had assumed they’d borrow Bucky’s truck or Nat’s tiny little commuter car.

“I am certainly not driving that thing home,” Nat said, “when you are making off with my husband. It is like a huge, what is the word --”

“Vibrator, Nat,” Bucky said, cheerfully. “The word you’re looking for is _vibrator_.”

“Yes, that,” she said, flicking her fingers at him. “But less satisfying. I only like to go for a ride when Steve will be there at the other end.”

“La la la la can’t hear you!” Tony singsonged, jamming the helmet on his head.

Bucky leaned down, resting his forehead against the helmet and said _sotto voce_ , “Don’t forget if the bike gets you too wound up… tragically straight.” He winked and kissed Tony’s cheek. “Have fun, nerds.”

“We will, dork,” Tony said, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Bucky said, subtly copping a feel, his hand warm on Tony’s ass as he scooted out the door.

Steve rolled his bike up to the porch, his own American flag helmet already in place, dorky goggles over his eyes. “I didn’t bring my bitch-jacket, so don’t fall off the back, okay?” He pulled on a leather jacket. “Nat’s probably wouldn’t fit you anyway.” He mounted and then waited for Tony to climb gingerly onto the back. “Arms around my waist.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Tony snarked, a cover for the mob of angry bees that had taken over for the butterflies in his stomach.

Steve kicked down on the starter and the bike roared under them. The bees moved into Tony’s thighs as the engine snarled. Steve reached back and grabbed Tony’s hands, pulling him up against Steve’s broad back like some sort of baby koala bear. The back tire spun wildly for a moment, swinging the bike around, and then they were off.

Steve drove like a maniac.

Tony admitted that when Bucky let him drive, he took to the road with a certain... aggressiveness, born of learning to drive in a crowded city of people widely acknowledged to be some of the most impatient assholes on the planet.

Next to Steve, Tony drove like a ninety-year-old grandmother who only ever took the jalopy into town for church and bingo. Jesus _Christ_ , he was going to _die_ , he was going to end up scattered across every one of the rivers and inlets and deltas and then swept into the sea, never to be seen again. The bike didn’t even have the oh-shit handle that Bucky’s truck had.

Tony squeezed onto Steve’s waist even harder and wondered if it was too late to take up religion.

Steve had to tap the back of Tony’s hands several times before he was prepared to let go. Even after the engine stopped rumbling, the echoes of vibrations juddered up and down Tony’s legs, making him hyper-aware of every inch of his own skin. When he was standing on the pavement, his inner ear was still entirely convinced that they were still moving, the bike swaying under him as Steve banked and turned like he was running a bombing mission.

“I’m walking home,” Tony told him, focusing on making himself walk a straight line toward the police station.

They were ushered through quickly enough; a female police officer, who introduced herself as Daisy Johnson, took them back into Fury’s office. That chair was occupied by a younger man than Fury, with a broad smile. “Trip’s what they call me. Me an’ Daisy here are keeping an ear out, on account of me having a sprained ankle. Fury’s pretending to be angry about that, but I think he was happy I was benched enough that he could get in on the action. Man, I am telling you, that man is hoping this’ll push through his application. Have a seat.”

Johnson set up a laptop, her fingers rattling over the keyboard. “Odinson gave us his codes, while he was out of town, so I can watch everything from in here, and keep our inside man safe, in case the alarm system goes off. But he’s good. We had a little head-to-head the other day, just so I could get a feel for his style.”

“How’s he doing?” Tony asked, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Bucky was, um, pretty rough on him, the other day, and we don’t have any way to contact him...”

“Oh, don’t give up on him,” Daisy said, giving Tony a wink. “I think he’s found Hope in some unexpected places.”

Trip groaned and sank his face into his hands. “Would you stop with that joke? You’ve killed it, it’s dead.”

“Never!” Daisy said. She tapped her keyboard a few times, scowling, then -- “Oh, there he is! I got ‘em on the street cams. Good of him to give me the plate number. Oh, no, I guess you wouldn’t know, my bad joke. He was flirting with the records girl the other day, while he was in here. Her name’s Hope. She told him if he wasn’t in jail by this time tomorrow, she’d go on a date.”

“Is he... likely to be in jail this time tomorrow?” Tony tried not to be alarmed. He was trusting Fury to play it straight, but…

“If this goes wrong, we may all be in jail by this time tomorrow,” Daisy said. She held up her hands in mock-surrender as Trip pelted her with pencils swiped from Fury’s desk. “Probably not. But technically, Fury doesn’t have permission for this op. If it goes well, the captain’ll be happy as a clam and eager to take credit. If it goes badly… well, that’ll suck for us when the shit finishes rolling downhill. And your friend will take a fall, big time, if he doesn’t run. So…” She tapped the keyboard again, “rest assured that your friend is in the hands of the second-best computer whiz in the state, pop some popcorn, sit back, and let me aggravate you for the rest of the evening.”

Steve made a rumbly noise in his throat, then said, “I have all the confidence in the world that you will all do the right thing.”

Daisy looked over the edge of her keyboard. “I got it covered, big guy. Just sit down and hold onto your butts.”

Trip picked up the headphones, listening for a moment. “It’s gonna be a while,” he said, agreeing with Daisy’s assessment. “There’s shitty coffee in the break room, just down the hall to your left, and when it gets exciting, I’ll turn on the speakers.”

Really, they should have gone to the movies. It was boring. And then dull. And then tedious. And then boring some more. Tony pulled out his phone to play a timekiller game, and Daisy actually _snapped her fingers_ at him. “No, nope, I’m going to need you both to turn your phones off, and I mean _all the way off_ , not just on silent. Once things start happening, I can _not_ afford to be distracted even a little.”

Tony huffed and turned his phone off, and Steve sighed and did the same. Then it was _even more boring_ , which Tony literally hadn’t thought possible.

And then everything seemed to happen very quickly.

Scott was apparently a very talented doorman, as Daisy called him, and the back door and the office door were both opened easily, bypassing Loki’s extremely expensive security system like the lock on a child’s diary. He subverted the cameras, too. Any guard watching would barely notice the two minute loop of video that contained no people, just an empty hall and quiet office.

Tony and Steve clustered over Daisy’s shoulders as she pulled up the feeds that Scott was running, then subverted his subversion. “This feed’s only coming to us. We don’t want any security wandering up there until we’re ready. I’ve got Fitz stationed at the gate, in case we need a distraction. The captain’ll have our heads if we let a rent-a-badge get shot.”

“We’ve got eyes on targets,” Trip reported. “I count all of them armed, except our boy, and if he’s not hiding a gun in an ankle holster, he’s decided bell-bottoms are back in fashion.”

They watched Scott at the safe. He carefully unscrewed the keypanel and plugged a portable tablet into it.

“And here’s the fun bit,” Daisy said. “I’ve never actually seen anyone crack a TimeLox10 before.”

“Simmons said it’s not possible,” Trip added.

“And… lookie there, Simmons owes me fifty dollars, how the hell did he do that? We need to get that guy on the payroll.”

“Holy crap, he’s good,” Tony muttered. “I’ve played around with computer systems, but... Wow.” The security feed wasn’t good enough for him to have actually watched the way Scott broke into the safe, but it had happened very quickly.

Tony felt much better about Scott having gotten into Dockside, that first day, waltzing right past the system that Tony had spent a week researching. Anyone that good was bound to get in.

Daisy and Trip were tensing up, and it wasn’t hard to guess that meant things were about to get hot. Tony risked a glance at Steve, who lifted his gaze from the monitors only long enough to give Tony a tight smile.

Daisy nodded. “They have to actually take something. It’s not worth grabbing them now. Odinson was very concerned about his wallpaper, so Nick’s team is just outside the door. Trip, check street cams for me, I can’t look away right now. Any late-night strollers?”

Trip pulled up the street view on his monitor. “Yeah, we got a whole crowd of… Jesus, those are college kids. Take ‘em out inside, too many potential hostages and collateral damage. Fury, do you copy, get your men in the door!”

There was a rush of dark shadows into the building. Moments later, voices yelling, muffled. Someone fired a gun. There was a brilliant spray of light from the interior cameras and then they went dark.

“Shit, I lost visual,” Daisy said, typing frantically. “Jesus, that _asshole_ , why’d he put a kill switch in the code?”

Trip pressed his headset closer to his head, as if hearing better would let him help more. “Get me rescue on site, now. I want an ambulance there, no lights no sirens, in five minutes.”

“Ha, got you, you stupid --” Daisy broke off, staring as the cameras came back online. “Two down in the hall, I can’t tell who they are.”

Tony had nearly bitten through his lip in an effort not to interrupt. The shot had his heart pounding with fear, and the dark monitors seemed especially ominous. Steve, beside him, was breathing fast and shallow. “Please please please please please,” Tony whispered.

“Fitz, talk to me, whatcha got there?”

Trip flipped the speakers on, “Nick’s on a tirade, you gotta hear this.”

Fury was, indeed, ranting. Apparently he had one of the three perps on the floor and was going through a comprehensive list about how unattractive, unintelligent, and under arrest they were, which ended with, “Do as I say, and you live!”

“I’ve got Fitz in the hall,” Daisy reported. “VonDoom is down, he took a round to the shoulder, Fitz is on the radio with the parameds. Yes, cuff him first, idiot,” Daisy said. “I don’t care if it hurts him, I’ll take blame for that. This guy is a killer, Fitz, I don’t want to be visiting your ass in the morgue. Uh-huh, yeah, I hear that.”

Tony felt oddly vindicated about VonDoom’s injury, after the things Bucky had told him that morning. If he were a better person, he probably wouldn’t enjoy hearing about another person’s suffering, but... he wasn’t, and he did.

“Where the hell is Cross?” Trip demanded. “Nick’s got the big guy, but Cross an’ Lang are missing.”

“Mack’s down in the hall. VonDoom clocked him in the head just before he got shot. He’ll probably have a hell of a headache, but he’ll be okay,” Daisy reported. She started panning the cameras, looking. “Oh, there’s Cross! I’ve got him, downstairs, in the bar. He’s headed for the kitchen exit. Do we have anyone left outside?”

They watched as Cross pushed open the emergency exit door, looked around, and then let himself out into the alley behind the Valhalla. Not five seconds later, a skinny little lady cop with her hair tucked in a tidy bun at the base of her neck, stepped out of the shadows and pointed a gun directly at the back of Cross’s head.

“Haha, Jemma got him!” Daisy laughed, clapping her hands.

“So where is our little friend?”

It took a while to find Scott, but eventually someone thought to check, and apparently he’d locked himself in the safe as soon as the cops stormed the building, and once in there, couldn’t operate the lock from the inside.

Daisy talked a very irate Fury through working Scott’s tablet, still dangling from its connecting wire, and getting the door open before Scott suffocated inside the safe. Fury cuffed him and walked him out of the bar.

Tony had to bite back a protest, watching that. They’d explained it -- Scott would have to be arrested along with the others so they wouldn’t know he was the one who’d tipped off the cops to the break-in, and the plan was to release him as soon as they got all of VonDoom’s crew into separate holding areas. It was a massive show of trust on Scott’s part, though, and it made Tony feel a little sick, watching it. When Steve patted his shoulder, he realized he’d been leaking a soft, unhappy whine.

Daisy grinned. “Hey, man, it’s okay, it’s fine,” she said. “It’s all over but the booking and the lawyers. Your little friend’s a hero. I mean, he can’t work directly for the force, what with a record and all, but we hire training consultants all the time, and he has mad skills. That brother’s going places, but none of ‘em are to jail.”

Trip put the headset aside. “They’re on their way, here. I’ll take you back to the bullpen, if you want. We gotta walk him in through the door. We put one of Fisk’s guys in holding to see him come in, he’s a prisoner transfer. And then we’ll take him for ‘questioning’, and you guys can see him home, safe and sound, okay?”

Tony nodded, not even having to check with Steve. They’d feel a lot better, putting eyes on Scott directly, and better still once they could walk him out the door. Even better: Three people couldn’t fit on Steve’s bike. Tony had an excuse to get a cab back home instead of subjecting himself to Steve’s driving again.

They heard Scott long before they saw him, complaining loudly to his guard that his nose itched and it was impossible to do anything about it with his hands cuffed behind his back, so could--

The door opened and Scott was shuffled in. “For God’s sake, shut up,” the woman who had hold of Scott’s arm was scowling impressively. Impressive in that her face was a mask of neutrality, and yet, Tony could tell she was scowling the way she had her chin tilted at just the slightest angle.

“Of course, Officer May,” Scott said, giving her a chipper grin. “If, maybe you could… oh, hey guys! You came to watch the show?”

Officer May unclicked the cuffs. “Thank you, Mr. Lang, for showing restraint. But don’t think I don’t see that pick-wire up your sleeve. You are neither as cute, nor as clever, as you believe.”

Scott rubbed his wrist. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that recently. I may develop a complex.”

“Oh my god, Scott, stop annoying the police,” Tony sighed. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Aw, come on, May likes me. Just a little bit, right, May?”

May heaved an enormous sigh, then her mouth twitched. Just a little bit. “You’re not so terrible, Lang. Good luck to you. We’ll see you in court.”

Scott shuddered. “Ug.” He slung an arm around Tony’s waist. “So, was it awesome? Like, you know, _Ocean’s Eleven_? Or, more like… _Downfall of Doom_? That asshole got shot, served him right, did you see that? And Fury got nicked. Ha! _Nicked_! That’s a pun, son.”

Tony rolled his eyes and pulled Scott toward the door. “Why. Why did we want you back, again? Come on, time to go face the _real_ music. Bucky is going to _kill_ me.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “You didn’t tell _Bucky_?”

 


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky was laying on the bed, reading a book. He wasn’t going to be sleeping anyway, but at least he could be comfortable while he couldn’t sleep. Not, he was beginning to think, that he couldn’t have the lights on and maybe the radio going and Tony would sleep through it anyway. It took him a moment to hear the knocking at the front door.

He tucked the bookmark in place and yanked on a pair of sweatpants, heart pounding unpleasantly. Unless Tony had forgotten his keys, people who knocked on the door late at night usually only had bad news. It wasn’t college anymore, with Dum Dum showing up at 3am because he forgot that other people had class in the morning.

A dozen scenarios had already flashed through his head when he pulled open the door to all five and a half feet of pissed off Ukrainian holding a shopping bag in one hand and her cellphone in the other.

“Do you know,” she seethed, “what our stupid husbands are doing? Because they are not doing what they say they were doing.”

Bucky blinked and rubbed at his eyes a few times. “What are you talking about?” He thought, once, a long time ago, that he would eventually get used to Nat doing unexpected things, and knowing things she shouldn’t, and reading people’s body language with terrifying precision. He wasn’t. He began to suspect he never would be.

“They say to us, they are going to see this movie, this bad movie,” Nat said, pushing in to the house. She dropped her bag on Bucky’s table and fished out two pints of ice cream and a bottle of vodka. “But I am texting with Gabe this evening -- I wished to know if he was aware, also, of this movie. You know, they are always talking of movies, when we are in a group. He tells me, yes, he knows. He is there.”

“Okay?” Bucky figured Nat would get to the point some time in the next hour or so. He got spoons and shot glasses out of the cabinets.

“Our men,” Nat said, as if this was obvious, “they are _not there_. Gabe says they are not. It is not such a large theater, and they had this… charity auction before the films, with the lights on. Steven… Steven is hard to miss. And Tony, he talks talks talks to everyone, they would hear him. They are not there, Bucky! And Steve, he is not answering his phone! I call Tony as well. No answer. Straight to the voice mail. I leave messages, several. They have not called back.”

Bucky’s heart dropped several inches until it was taking up residence somewhere in the middle of his intestines, and he scrambled for his own phone. “You don’t think they got in an accident?” Steve drove like a madman, most of the time. Bucky had privately speculated that Steve, after having not died in childhood of his myriad illnesses, was convinced that he was some sort of lesser immortal. Bucky typed with suddenly shaking hands. _U guys oK?_

It took rather less imagination than Bucky would have preferred to visualize both of them, lifeless and limp, splattered across the street. He shook the image away, but it lingered at the edges to torment him.

No answer on the phone, not even a “Read” timestamp. There were a thousand perfectly reasonable and benign explanations for that, but Bucky could only focus on the disastrous possibilities.

“Call non-emergency services,” Bucky suggested. “They should be able to tell us if there have been any reported motorcycle accidents. They can’t give us more details than that, but how many could there be?”

Bucky tried to think what route they’d take to get there; he and Nat could get in his truck and do a sweep-- _Stop, stop, Barnes._ Bucky took a few deep breaths. He didn’t need to catastrophize everything, jumping straight from someone not being where they said they were going to identifying Tony’s body in the morgue. He flipped over to the phone app and dialed. It went straight to voicemail. He tried Steve, and got the same result.

Nat clicked her cellphone off and tucked it back in her pocket. “They say none reported.” She peeled open her ice cream and stuffed a spoon in it. “Where else might they go, if not to this movie event?” Nat spurned the shot glasses and pulled a tumbler out of the cabinet. She half filled it with vodka and started alternating. Drink, two or three bites of ice cream.

Bucky sat down with her. He didn’t have a shot; if someone called, or they decided to go out looking, he’d need to be sober.

“I… I might have told Tony some things he wasn’t ready to hear this morning,” Bucky admitted. “Shit I don’t talk about, that I try hard not to even think about. Never even told Steve much of it. If… if Tony confided in Steve about it, they might have gone out drinking, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Steve does not do this,” Nat pointed out. “He does not _change plans_ and not tell me. I lost my whole family when I could not contact them, when I could find out nothing, not for weeks. He does _not do this_ to me!”

Bucky put one hand on her shoulder. It also should not have surprised him when Nat wept. When he’d first really started to get to know her, she cried all the time. Her family had been dead, or arrested. There was nothing for her in her home country and her student visa was running out of time. She’d already been working at Dockside under the table, so Bucky had put her on the payroll and started the paperwork immediately for a work visa and Nat had cried. She cried when people were mean to her (and they were, sometimes) but she also cried when people were nice to her. Bucky could understand that; by the time he and Nat became friends, he felt like he’d been screaming on the inside for years.

“It’ll be okay,” Bucky said. “You know Steve; he’s probably rescuing a kitten from a tree or something.”

The dubiously disgusted look Nat gave him for that suggestion could have won an award. Bucky tried on a smile and it almost fit. “Come on, you and I both know that bad news travels fast. There’s no place around here so rural that if they’d been in an accident, someone wouldn’t have found them; that the hospitals wouldn’t have called.”

“So, what, do you think,” Nat said, gesturing angrily, “that they are shopping for a birthday present for me at one in the morning?”

“Well, you _are_ hard to shop for,” Bucky said. He watched Nat deliberate whether or not to peg her spoon at him.

“You are stupid and I don’t like you,” Nat declared, shoving her spoon back into her ice cream with unnecessary vigor.

“You looooove me,” Bucky crooned, shoving his own concerns and worries aside in favor of dealing with the problem right in front of him that he could see. He would get Nat calmed down, functional, and then they would figure out what to do. Once her brain stopped whirling around, she would have useful ideas; Nat always had useful ideas. Because the only one Bucky could think of was _wait and see_. Which was going to be fucking unbearable.

It was a good thing that Nat had an eastern European metabolism, because she polished off half the vodka by herself. And then Bucky heard Steve’s motorcycle pulling into the lot and he snagged Nat’s remaining glass and drained the rest of it. He shouldn’t need to drive now, and he wanted the fortification before he shook an explanation out of his husband’s chest.

Nat was already on her feet and out the door at the sound.

Bucky stopped on the walkway, staring. Steve was alone.

Nat vaulted over the side of the stairs and tore across the lot; how the hell could she move like that after having drank half her fucking body weight in alcohol?

Steve was _alone_.

Nat reached Steve, low, angry Russian dropping from her lips and for once it didn’t sound like she was spewing random ingredients lists at him, but more along the lines of, “how dare you” and “so worried” and “going to kill you now.”

_Steve_ was alone.

And the way he took off his helmet, the way he moved, shoulders tense, chin down, suggested that something was very, _very_ wrong.

_Where is Tony?_

If Bucky managed to get the words out at all, it was a miracle, the way his breath was frozen in his chest. Steve would never have just _left_ Tony somewhere, even if he was angry with Tony for some reason, that just wasn’t a thing Steve did.

“Natasha,” Steve was saying, holding his hands up defensively, as well he should, because Nat was charging him like an enraged snake. “Wait, hang on, can you calm down a minute?”

Bucky closed his eyes. Like, Steve should know better by now. That never, ever worked. In fact, it usually made things worse.

“No, no, I cannot calm down, Steven!” Nat yelled. She was right up in his face, her arms held rigidly beside her, like she was keeping herself from beating him senseless by sheer force of will.

Tony wasn’t with Steve.

So where the _fuck_ was he?

“Natasha,” Steve tried again, “I can explain, will you just… can we just wait for Tony to get here, please? He shouldn’t be that --”

“Where is he?” And Bucky was on his feet then, picking his way across the parking lot, stones uncomfortable under his bare feet. The pavement was still warm, heated from the day’s sun. “Where is my husband?”

“You lied,” Nat said. “You lied to me, how could you do that, Steven?”

A car pulled into the lot. They were momentarily blinded by the headlights, and then it swung wide and Bucky registered the taxi service’s logo printed on the door.

“He’s right there,” Steve said. He sounded weird, but Bucky didn’t have time to parse it, because the taxi door opened and--

Oh, thank _God_ , that was Tony. Bucky had to swallow several times to push his heart back down out of his throat.

Tony leaned back into the cab, paying the driver or getting something... No, he was helping someone else out. Who was that?

Motherfucking _Scott Lang_. Why. Why the _fuck_ was Tony bringing Scott _here_? Why the fuck was Tony _anywhere near Scott_ when Tony _knew_ Scott was working with VonDoom and Cross and-- Bucky’s stomach heaved and he staggered. “No.”

“Bucky,” Steve said. “We’ll explain everything, we just need you to listen for a minute.”

“ _No_.”

“Yes,” Tony said firmly, for all the world like he was putting his foot down on Billie when she was being an unreasonable brat. Scott was half-hiding behind him as the taxi pulled away, leaving them in the darkness of the parking lot, lit only by the moon and the light filtering down from the upstairs windows. Tony lifted his chin and met Bucky’s eyes. “You need to listen.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry, baby, I am. But it’s not what you think, I swear.”

“We’ve known for _hours_ that you weren’t at the movies,” Bucky said, flat. He put two and two together and suddenly all the worry that he’d been feeling coalesced. “You…” _Deep breath, Barnes. Tony’s never, ever done anything to hurt you deliberately. Back down off the cliff, now._ “I have been spinning disaster scenarios in my head for at least half a bottle, so you explain it to me. Explain why you put me through that.”

Tony ducked his head. “I’m sorry. Fury... Fury made us all promise we wouldn’t tell _anyone_ what was going on until it was over.” He glanced over his shoulder at Scott, then looked back at Bucky. “VonDoom and Cross and Fisk, they’re in jail now. Scott set them up, and Fury and his guys arrested them about... forty minutes ago, now.”

There were words coming out of Tony’s mouth. Bucky was even pretty sure they were English words. But nothing, nothing like what he’d expected (had he even thought far enough ahead to expect _anything_?) so they didn’t make any sense at all.

“I thought you were dead in a ditch,” Bucky said, entirely aware that he sounded just like his fucking mother, oh, my god.

“You should be dead in a ditch!” Nat screeched. “This is unacceptable!”

“Natasha, Nick made us promise not to tell anyone,” Steve said, like Nat had missed the whole point somewhere.

“I am not anyone, I am your wife! And you do not answer me, when I call you, and… and…” Nat was crying again, and Steve wrapped her up in his huge embrace, holding her against his chest while she continued to berate him, somewhat muffled in his shirt.

Tony actually flinched and fumbled his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, _fuck_ , we forgot to turn our phones back on. Fuck, I’m _so sorry_ , that’s totally on me. I was just so _relieved_ it was all over, I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m...” He bit his lip.

Scott poked Tony’s shoulder. “Toldja,” he said, sounding weirdly cheerful. “Spouses are exempt from the don’t-tell-anyone thing.”

“You could’ve told me that _before_ everything went to hell,” Tony said, petulant.

“I thought you _knew_!” Scott protested. “ _Everyone_ knows that!”

Bucky took a few deep breaths. Okay, okay, everything was fine. Sort of. Confusing, but fine. No one was hurt. He was pretty sure that Tony had said VonDoom was back in jail, which was exactly where that man belonged and maybe Bucky could stop looking over his shoulder for him to appear.

“Come on, honey,” Bucky said, very gently, very carefully. “Let’s go upstairs. There’s still ice cream and vodka, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He gave Tony a very pointed look. “Not you. I mean Nat.” And he coaxed her out from under Steve’s embrace and took her over to the stairs. “You three can come up when you feel like you might be ready to apologize.” He patted Nat’s hair and walked her into the house and closed the door behind him.

***

Scott clapped his hands together and then rubbed them. “Well, that went well. I feel like we just got a golden oldies summary of my entire relationship with Maggie, right there. Of course, she divorced my ass, so you two better not linger down here particularly long.”

“I said I was sorry,” Steve said, his voice tiny for someone as big and as loud as he normally was.

Tony echoed the thought -- he’d said he was sorry at _least_ three times, he was sure of it. “I... don’t think that’s the sort of apology they’re looking for,” he sighed.

“Do, uh… do you want me to go up? I can give them the executive summary or something, man, ‘cause like I’m not sleeping with either of them and I might be, like, you know, neutral third party or something, because this is really all my fault, from like the very beginning. I should never have come here to start with, an’ brought all this down on you, I know that. You know that. Celly even knows that. I don’t know about your woman, Steve… but you know… I got the impression she worries about your safety. Not sure what could hurt someone like you, big guy, but, still.”

“You haven’t seen his driving,” Tony muttered. He looked up at the house window. Yeah, they were going to be groveling for a while. “We’ll all go up together,” he said. “I don’t think Bucky will let just one of us in the house.” He sighed. “They’re going to be using this against us for _years_. Come on. The longer we make them wait, the madder they’re going to get.” He headed for the stairs, hoping Steve and Scott would follow.

Scott, greatly daring for Scott, or maybe just greatly stupid, gave Steve a little shove. “Go, go. You two are so lucky, you know that, right? I mean, Cassie might miss me for a while, but there’s no one, _no one_ that worries where I am, or wonders if I’m coming home. Besides, Celly’s not going to kill me. I refuse to die on the same night that a cop put a bullet in VonDoom, two days before I have a date with the most gorgeous woman I have literally ever seen, even if she is a cop, and I’m going to go straight, I’m going to make this work. I’m going to have a life because I deserve it. I do. And you two are going to get on with your domestic bliss, because it’s adorable and I refuse to live in a world where it doesn’t exist.”

That was... oddly heartening. “Yeah,” Tony breathed. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”

Tony wasn’t quite prepared for the scene when he opened the door. At least Bucky hadn’t locked him out. That was… promising.

Nat and Bucky were practically sitting on each other, their chairs in the dining room were pressed close and they were eating ice cream, passing a mostly-empty bottle back and forth and giggling. Nat was speaking in slurred Russian (Jesus, how much had she had to drink? Nat was unusually fortified against vodka, but the way she swayed was impressive.) and had one leg draped over Bucky’s lap. “<... Don’t worry, I will tell you allllllllllllllll about it. We have to stick together, right?>”

“<Oh, look. They’re here,>” Bucky said, his own Russian not particularly steady either. Tony blinked. Russian with a thick southern drawl was an odd combination. “Tony, come here, best… best seat in the house.” He removed Nat’s leg from his lap and pushed his chair back, patting his thighs.

That was... a change. He couldn’t really refuse, though, could he, if he was still -- deservedly -- in the doghouse? He went the long way around the table, not being willing to expose himself to Nat’s revenge, and took the offered lap only a little nervously. “I really am sorry,” he told Bucky with every bit of sincerity he could muster. “Nick was so... insistent. You know how he gets. I think he was mad that even Steve and I knew.”

Bucky nodded, tucked his face against Tony’s neck. Kissed his throat. “I know, baby, it’s okay, I was just… _worried sick_. Gabe was at the movie thing, told us y’all weren’t there, so… we didn’t know where you _were_. An’ I know, I know, baby, you don’t belong to me, and I don’t get to tell you what to do, and I feel like shit about being upset with you, you know. You just… you don’t normally do that, and you weren’t answering your phones, neither of you. I’m sorry.”

“They made us turn off our phones,” Tony said. _Bucky_ apologizing made him feel squirmy and wrong, because Bucky hadn’t done a damn thing wrong, not at all. Tony would’ve been livid if their situations had been reversed, no question. He glanced over at Steve, who was holding Nat very close and looking somewhat perplexed. “And I guess we both forgot to turn them back on, when it was all done. That’s... I have to apologize for that, too, that was definitely not cool, I know you guys worry.”

There was something weirdly fascinating about watching Nat smother her husband with kisses. Every time Steve tried to say something, she kissed him again until Steve was clinging to her and she was sighing softly into his embrace.

Scott was staring shamelessly.

“If you promised Nick, you promised,” Bucky said, entirely reasonably. “Nat was just texting with Gabe, thought he might like to meet you guys at the show, and he was already there. Just bad timing, I guess. So, now y’all can tell us, right? I am… god, I’m glad you’re okay, baby. I didn’t just imagine you in an accident, I swear to Christ, I was at the damn morgue when they pulled you out on a slab.” He shuddered and tucked his face against Tony’s neck again. “Anything. _Anything_ is better than that.”

“Oh my god, honey,” Tony croaked. He wrapped his arms around Bucky and squeezed him tight. “So, _so_ sorry, I am, I really am. And, yeah, we’ll tell you the whole thing, absolutely.” He took a deep breath and glanced at the others again. “You, uh, you remember when Scott got hurt and Steve and I went to check on him at Luis’ place?”

Tony told the whole story, with Scott chiming in to fill in some of the things that Tony hadn’t known or understood, like the not once but _several_ times Cross and Fisk had found Scott to threaten him (luckily only the once at Dockside), and some of the at-the-scene action that Tony and Steve had missed while the monitors had been down.

The whole time, Bucky and Nat listened raptly, expressed concern and relief over everyone’s wellbeing, asked questions, and never once looked angry.

It was a little unnerving.

Scott went through a fairly descriptive, bloodthirsty, and gleeful retelling about VonDoom getting shot, and then finally added that he was going to have a date in two days, so really, everything worked out, right.

Bucky nudged Tony off his lap and went over to Scott. He clasped hands and drew Scott up into a fierce hug. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have known you wouldn’t -- not voluntarily. I’m so sorry.”

“No, man, it’s all good, it’s all good,” Scott said. “I didn’t want them ‘round here anyway, so me gettin’ fired worked out. And Fisk thought it made me more likely to cooperate, since now I could be pissed with my boss and blame everything on being an ex-con, an’ knowing that going legit would never work out. Meant they pushed me around a little less, so, you know… it’s cool, man. Just, you know, ‘cause I thought you hated me, that, man, that _hurt_ , you know that, right? Like ow, really. So, take your knife back and we’re all good, all square. Also… can I have my job back? Like, I need to buy some spare parts for my van now, an’, you know, the cops, they don’t let me keep none of that money that was in the safe, man, did you know that? I mean, how is that fair?”

“Yeah, if Tony says it’s cool,” Bucky said, “you can have your job back.”

“Of _course_ Scott can have his job back,” Tony said. “God, I almost died when you fired him, I almost spilled everything right then and there.”

“You will speak with Odinson about this,” Nat instructed from her position on Steve’s lap. “Not Loki, but the father. George has great respect for the warrior, and what you do, you put yourself at risk, for him? He will give you a token of his esteem. He will do this, he will. Steven, don’t you dare laugh at me right now. Tell him, I am not wrong about this, am I?”

“She’s not wrong,” Tony told Steve. “The man goes _on and on_ about it, really.”

Bucky nodded. “I swear, I fully expect him to give Billie a sword for a birthday present on her thirteenth birthday. Like, a real one. She’s going to love it, too, which is just… trouble I ain’t lookin’ forward to.”

“On the plus side, there’s no way fencing class parents are going to be as bad as the soccer moms were,” Tony suggested. “I mean, there will at least probably be more dads on those sidelines.”

“I am taking Steven home now,” Nat announced. “We will let Scott sleep in our apartment tonight, since I do not want to drive all the way over to Portsmouth at three in the morning. And tomorrow, we will get everyone’s vehicles back where they are supposed to be, yes?”

“That sounds like a plan,” Bucky said. He patted Steve on the back, who was still looking worried. “Make coffee when you get home, Steve. You’re going to need it.”

“Yes,” Nat said, sternly. “I am owed many, _many_ orgasms.”

Steve shook his head. “Why… why does she think this is some sort of punishment for me?”

Nat narrowed her gaze at Steve. “Did I say you could have any? No. No, I did not.” And she flounced out of Bucky’s house, not waiting to see if Steve was following her or not.

Bucky winced. “Ow. You’d better go, Steve.”

Steve rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a few seconds, then… “Yeah, okay. We might be in late tomorrow.” And he fled after his wife.

“You maybe don’t want to let them know how easily sound travels between the bedroom and the guest room,” Tony suggested to Scott. Scott stared at him, and then his eyes widened and he scurried after Steve.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the smut-averse: This chapter is mostly smut. Read the beginning, but once they get going, that's all there is. :)

Bucky locked the door behind them and stayed there for a moment, watched the car pull out of the lot. Unlocked the door. Opened it. Looked out. Closed it and locked it again. Took a deep breath.

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek, watching. Waiting. _Here it comes_. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, baby?” Bucky let go of the door handle and turned around. He was smiling, just a little, the corner of his mouth tipped up.

That wasn’t what Tony had expected. “Are you... I’m...” What the hell did he even say? _Why aren’t you yelling at me?_ “I really am sorry. Are you okay?”

“Shhh, Tony,” Bucky said. He crossed the room quickly, kissed Tony’s mouth, his cheek, nuzzled at his jaw. “You don’t need to be sorry. You are okay. Do you have _any_ idea how grateful I am for that? I’m okay. Come to bed. I think I might actually be able to sleep tonight, for a change.”

“That’s, that’s good,” Tony said. He let Bucky take his hand and pull him along to the bedroom. “I’ve been worried about that.” He managed to hold out until they’d undressed and crawled into bed, until Bucky had pulled Tony close, wrapping around him protectively, before he finally broke. “Why aren’t you mad? I would be. I would be so...” He twisted to look at Bucky’s face. “I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall, here. I don’t get it.”

Bucky raised up on one elbow, but instead of looking at Tony, he glanced at the clock. “Three twenty-one,” he said. “Huh. Okay, I probably win.” He kissed Tony again and snuggled back into the blankets.

What the fuck did _that_ mean? “What?”

“Did you do the right thing, Tony?”

Tony had to stop and think about it. “I... think so. Mostly.”

“Then I understand that,” Bucky said. “And I don’t want to be mad at you. There’s no shoe. Nat and I decided, while you two were gathering your courage, that we didn’t want to be mad. That what we were feeling was worry and stress and fear, and we don’t want to fight about that, okay? We love you. Both of you. You made a hard decision, based on some terrible choices, and knowing that the outcome could be so much worse. You protected _Scott_ , even after everything he did, or that you thought he did, or that _I_ thought he did. How can I be mad at you for that? Do… do you want me to be mad?”

Tony made a face. “No, of course not. But I still kind of feel like I might deserve it, a little.” He sighed. “Not for Scott, but for the hiding it and the lying and the, y’know, exposing us to the possible danger.”

“Well, sorry, not sorry,” Bucky said. He licked the shell of Tony’s ear, then blew cold air over the wet skin, letting Tony shiver under it. “I’m not going to yell at you about being brave. And working hard to make sure no one else needs to be hurt by them. And doing what was necessary to make sure it got done. You’re just going to have to accept that. An’ the more you’re down on yourself about it, the nicer I’m gonna have to be, until you believe me, or til you’re too exhausted to protest it anymore.” He rolled, covering Tony like a blanket and pressed into him, rolling his body up Tony’s until he captured Tony’s mouth in a kiss.

Well, _that_ wasn’t fair. Tony never had been able to resist Bucky’s kisses. Not even a little bit. He sighed into it and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist. “You’re unbelievable,” he panted into the tiny space between them, when Bucky pulled away. “God, I love you.”

“Good. Love you, too.” Bucky nipped at Tony’s ear again. “Show me.” His voice dropped into a low purr.

Heat punched into Tony’s gut, sudden and bright as the flare of flashpaper. “Oh, I’ll show you,” he promised. He slipped his fingers into Bucky’s hair, curling his hands to cup Bucky’s head, and lifted his head for a kiss, slow and deep and thorough, testing and tasting everything Bucky’s mouth had to offer.

He half-sat, pushing Bucky over and reversing their positions before diving in for another kiss, needing Bucky’s taste on his tongue, Bucky’s scent in his nose, Bucky’s breath in his lungs. “Always so good to me,” he said, nosing and nipping along Bucky’s jaw. “Always take care of me, make me feel so loved... Want to do that for you, baby, want to show you how much you mean to me, how much I love you.” He sucked hard at the tender skin under Bucky’s ear, then soothed it with his tongue.  “You going to let me do that, hm?”

Bucky’s eyes were practically glowing in the dark, pupils wide and throwing back the faint light. “Yeah,” he said. “Make me feel loved, show me how much you want me, love me. I… yeah, can you… will you do that for me?” He touched the side of Tony’s face with his knuckles.

Tony tipped his head into the caress, then caught Bucky’s hand and kissed the knuckles, one at a time. “I would love to,” Tony said. He brushed Bucky’s lips with his, pulling back before Bucky could make it into a real kiss, teasing it with a soft touch, a flick of tongue, a quick drag of teeth, breath warm and and ticklish between them. “Love you so much,” he whispered, and finally let himself kiss Bucky again, hard and hot.

“You set me on fire,” Bucky told him, quite seriously. He cupped his hand around the back of Tony’s neck and brought him down, sealing his mouth over Tony’s lips. He teased at Tony’s mouth, soft, nuzzling kisses and then deeper, tongue thrusting inside. Bucky squirmed under Tony, each motion rubbing their bodies together in new and interesting ways. He broke the kiss on a groan -- a low, wicked sound that rumbled around in the space between them.

“Good,” Tony said. He sat up, looking down at Bucky in the dim light that filtered in from the window. Bucky was barely more than a shadow against the bedsheets, but Tony could feel the hot gaze that followed his every tiny movement. He smoothed his hands down Bucky’s arms, back up and around Bucky’s shoulders, so broad and strong, and then down over Bucky’s chest. “You’re so damn gorgeous,” he sighed, and then, before Bucky could protest, or squirm, or try to turn it around on Tony, he dragged his thumbs across Bucky’s nipples, the rough and calloused skin a contrast against the soft flesh.

Bucky arched up, pushing his chest toward Tony’s teasing fingers. “Feel that way, sometimes,” he murmured. “When you touch me like that, when you love me like this.” His voice was blurry with wanting, hands wandering around, drawing circles and abstract shapes on Tony’s back, over his shoulders. He wriggled again, spread his legs until Tony was cradled between them, but didn’t try to roll over or push or direct, giving up everything, giving himself over to Tony, for Tony to worship and adore and take care of. “You make me feel that way.”

Tony felt like he was burning, himself.

Bucky didn’t often allow himself to just relax and let Tony love him, and while Tony was always delighted to be touched and teased and pleased, he loved this, loved making Bucky squirm under his hands, drawing out gasps and moans and soft whimpers of desperate need. God, Tony wanted to touch every _inch_ of Bucky’s skin, taste and worship and make Bucky wild with wanting.

He sucked one nipple into a taut peak, and then kissed his way down Bucky’s ribs, pausing to suck and bite marks into Bucky’s skin while Bucky twisted and hissed and whined. The deep vee of Bucky’s hip was utterly irresistible, a path that begged for Tony’s lips and tongue.

Bucky’s nails scraped along Tony’s scalp, his fingers kneading through Tony’s hair like a kitten. His body quivered, rocking back and forth a bit, squirming under Tony’s mouth. He swore, breathless and constantly, rubbing against Tony. The heat radiating off his skin was incredible, like cuddling up next to a warm stove on a cold day. Bucky panted for breath, then tipped his head back to gasp and moan in time with Tony’s mouth. “Please, oh, god, _Tony_ …”

“Yeah, baby,” Tony crooned. “I’ve got you. Going to make you feel so good.” He slithered further down the bed and licked a broad stripe up Bucky’s cock. “That what you want, baby?” A series of quick kitten-licks along the ridge of the head. “Like that?”

“God, that’s… that’s _evil!_ Oh, my god, Tony…” Bucky rocked his hips up, helplessly drawn to the wet and warmth of Tony’s mouth. He pulled one hand out of Tony’s hair and covered his face with his arm, whimpering.

“The very best kind of evil,” Tony agreed. He tormented Bucky a little longer, enjoying Bucky’s desperation far too much to end it quickly. When the hand in Tony’s hair started trembling with the effort of restraint, Tony finally gave in, swallowing Bucky’s cock in one smooth slide, letting it nudge against the back of his throat.

Bucky wailed his appreciation, hands dropping to his sides to bunch in the blankets as if to hold himself down. His knees came up, and then spread out, laying himself completely open to Tony’s mouth and hands, toes curling against Tony’s sides as he tossed his head. “God, I want you, baby,” Bucky said. “You’re so perfect, so… oh, my god, your wicked fucking mouth, Tony, dear christ, what are you--” Bucky ended that on a faint, reedy whine, hips almost jerking out of Tony’s grasp entirely.

Tony hummed his satisfaction, which made Bucky jerk again, groaning, and then Tony pulled off. “Hmm, you taste so good,” he said, just to hear how hoarse he sounded. “Can’t decide if I want you to come down my throat or if I want to ride you until you’re screaming.” He nipped at the soft skin on the inside of Bucky’s thigh. “You have a preference, honey?”

“Come here, come here,” Bucky said, opening his hands and drawing Tony up. “Kiss me, please, baby, kiss me, I want… want you, want _all_ of you.” He slanted his mouth and kissed Tony, sucked at Tony’s tongue, groaning at the taste of himself inside Tony’s mouth. “You… you… you are the most fucking beautiful man I’ve ever met, god, Tony, you are so… I don’t even…” Bucky had completely lost control of his mouth, babbling at Tony, petting him like cat. “Please, I want you on me. Want to sink into you, feel you squeeze down on me.” He kissed Tony again, stealing his breath, then finally pulled back with a needy groan.

Tony was panting almost as much as Bucky by that point, his own cock heavy and throbbing with every touch, every moan, every hot breath Bucky spilled over his skin. “God, that sounds perfect,” he sighed. He stretched for the lube and rearranged his legs to straddle Bucky’s hips. “You’re so good, so, so fucking amazing,” he gasped. He twisted and pushed two fingers into his hole, rough and hard, much rougher than Bucky ever was, but he didn’t care, he just needed, _god_ he needed Bucky in him.

Bucky reached for him, fingers dancing over Tony’s hip and then his cock was enclosed in Bucky’s grip, fingers loose, but giving him pressure, teasing. He curled his hand around Tony, then holy-shit, drummed his fingers along it, the tapping, vibrating pressure the worst and best sort of torment.

“Oh, f- _fuck_ , that’s--” Tony couldn’t seem to make his body decide whether to try to push into Bucky’s touch or back onto his fingers; he quivered between them for a long moment before finally dragging his hand free. “Close enough, I can’t wait, I...” He managed to get them lined up, and nnnnng, he mayyybe should’ve stretched out a little more, but there was no way he was going to back up _now_. He gritted his teeth and pushed past the burn, rocking gently down and being oh _fuck_ completely distracted by the way Bucky was playing with his cock, which maybe was the point but he didn’t even care.

He gasped in relief as he bottomed out, his body fighting the stretch until suddenly it wasn’t, and his vision went blue with a flood of endorphins and euphoria. “Oh, god, honey, that’s... that’s it, right there.”

Bucky kept his grip on Tony’s dick, flicking his thumb over the slit in maddeningly shallow strokes. “God, you’re so… you’re so tight, baby, it should be _illegal_.” Bucky shifted under him, the slide of skin on skin delicious, the slick heat of their joined bodies was so sweet. Bucky’s heart pounded, hard and heavy under Tony’s hands; his own pulse was faster, fluttering. Bucky lifted his hips and thrust up, angling himself in such a way that made lightning pulses of sensation race through Tony’s veins.

“Oh, god, yes,” Tony gasped. “That, that’s... that’s what’s illegal, right there. Do it again.” He took a couple of breaths and settled his position, leaning down to capture Bucky’s mouth in a sloppy kiss, even as he started the careful roll of his hips.

Bucky was right there with him, his hips moving in time with Tony’s. His hands came down on Tony’s ass, fingernails biting into the soft skin there, a razor sharp zing of pain that just added to the sweetness. Demanding; a harder thrust, a faster pace, until Tony was all but bouncing on Bucky’s dick, his own cock aching and bobbing as he moved.

Bucky curled up, shifting Tony until Bucky had his arms around Tony’s back, fingers digging into his shoulders to pull him down harder. Tony enjoyed it, Bucky so wild with need that he was nearly out of control. The idea that he could drive this beautiful man to such abandon made Tony feel powerful, reveling in Bucky’s obvious desire.

“That’s it, baby,” he managed, each word feeling jolted out of him by the thrusts of Bucky’s cock in him. “Come on, you feel so good, you’re perfect, you’re _mine_. Give it to me, baby, need you to come for me, come in me so I can feel it, make me feel you deep in me.” He tucked his head down against Bucky’s neck and bit at Bucky’s shoulder, sharp and hard and fast.

Bucky slowed his hips for just a moment, prompting Tony to whine, high-pitched, until Bucky nudged his chin up, kissed Tony, covered his mouth, drank in the sounds that Tony was making, thrust his tongue in to keep pace with the steady rhythm of his hips. Bucky trembled all over, shaking, his skin growing slick with sweat as he worked. A deep quiver that seemed to radiate, starting at Bucky’s cock, deep inside Tony, and traveling up Bucky’s body, everywhere that Tony was touching, until Bucky threw his head back to cry out, displaying his throat.

God, Bucky was _beautiful_ ; sometimes Tony had no idea how such a gorgeous man could have picked him. He brushed his fingers down the side of Bucky’s face and then laid his hand gently over Bucky’s throat, feeling Bucky swallow hard under his palm. “Love you,” he said softly, “love you so much. Look at you, giving it all up for me like this. So pretty.”

Bucky panted for breath, licking at his lips as he shuddered down through it, licking at Tony’s mouth. He bit down lightly on Tony’s lower lip, tugged it out, then let go. “Oh, god, baby--” he panted, leaning his forehead against Tony’s chest. He started to pull out, still half-hard and sticky, his spill leaking out of Tony’s ass, and then thrust back up inside, everything slick and wet and messy. “Hold tight,” he said, giving Tony about three seconds warning before flipping him onto his back. His cock did slip free and Tony clenched down on horrible, empty nothingness for a few seconds and then Bucky slithered down Tony’s body between his thighs.

With an eager grunt, Bucky filled Tony back up, two fingers sliding in easily past the second knuckle and his mouth came down over the head of Tony’s cock.

God, that was _exactly_ right, that hot slick wetness of Bucky’s mouth and his fingers easing the empty ache. Bucky’s tongue was doing-- _something_ , something _wonderful_ , and his fingers were curling up into Tony’s prostate, zinging shocks of pleasure that made Tony feel harder, hotter, more and more desperate.

He was writhing, was clinging desperately to the sheets, was cursing and begging. He needed, he needed, his body was made of electricity and the static was building with each inward press, each wicked flicker of tongue, each deliberate drag of Bucky’s lips and fingers.

The static was building and he was hotter than the sun, a burst of heat that blew him away like dust...

When Tony was able to breathe again, Bucky was watching, licking his lips smugly. “Hey there, gorgeous,” he said. “Feeling good?”

Tony laughed, just a puff of air. “Thought that was supposed to be my line, this time.” He pulled at Bucky’s arm -- uselessly, because all the strength had gone out of him -- but Bucky came anyway, and obliged Tony with a sweet kiss. Tony licked the taste of himself off Bucky’s lips and then relaxed with a sigh. “I feel _great_.”

“You _are_ great,” Bucky teased. He kissed the tip of Tony’s nose, then groaned and slid out of the bed. “You want a shower, or delivery?”

Tony was tempted to make a joke about being delivered _to_ the shower, but Bucky would probably actually _do it_ , because Bucky was utterly ridiculous. “Uh,” he managed, because it was four in the goddamn morning and it had been a _very long day_ , “you go get it started and I’ll come in once I get my limbs to move again.”

Bucky hissed a little when he flipped the lights on in the bathroom, then got the shower going. “Dear god, I hope it rains like hell tomorrow. I… do not want to be up to my eyeballs in customers.”

Tony whimpered a little at the thought, himself. He flung one leg toward the edge of the bed. That was progress, right? “Seconded. We’ll sacrifice the quarter-inch of vodka that Nat left on the table to the rain gods or something.”

By the time Tony made it into the bathroom, Bucky was practically asleep under the spray, head down, water streaming down his back. Batting around blindly, he handed Tony a washcloth. “Dead,” he declared as Tony joined him under the water. “You’ve kilt me.”

“Aww, baby,” Tony said. He took the cloth and rubbed it across Bucky’s back in small circles. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up and get you back to bed.”

Bucky rumbled, and then sniffed near Tony’s ear. “Smell your spicy brains,” he declared, nipping at the shell. “You sure you want to take me back to bed? I’m a zombie, now.”

“You are so weird,” Tony laughed. “I’ll take my chances. Soon as your head hits the pillow you’re going to be down for the count anyway.”

“Prolly.”

In the end, Tony was pretty convinced that he helped his husband sleepwalk back to bed. Which would have been funnier if Tony hadn’t been, easily, 9/10ths asleep himself. But for the first time in several long days, Tony was pretty sure he’d still find Bucky in bed next to him when the alarm went off.

 


	19. Chapter 19

_Three months later_

Nat was halfway up a step-ladder, hanging the ridiculous turkey-shaped lights that she’d found God only knew where and insisted had to be up by the middle of November. Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday -- the perfect American holiday, full of beer and food and football and family. Billie was sticking dozens of those hand-print turkeys up with tape; that particular flock was going to be waist-high this year, but neither Tony nor Bucky were going to discourage her, since she’d actually _volunteered_ to help for a change.

Scott pushed in through the front door wearing an ugly pea-green coat and almost knocked over the ladder before he looked up. “Not sorry I’m late,” he muttered at Bucky on his way back to the staff-closet where he’d hang up his coat. Tony looked around to see Bucky blinking in startlement.

“Did... he say _not_ sorry?” Tony asked. He was sitting on one of the tables, dispensing tape for Billie, because if they let her do it herself, she’d cover every single inch of each turkey with tape.

“Kinda what it sounded like,” Bucky said. It hadn’t exactly been a problem; November wasn’t a busy month and they weren’t officially open for another hour, but he’d said he was going to come in to help with the decorating. There were a handful of those tissue-accordion turkeys to set up for table centerpieces, as well as a few other ridiculous decorations. Nat brought more in every year. Probably in a decade or so, there’d be as many Thanksgiving decorations as there were Christmas decorations.

Scott went from the closet to the kitchen without pausing to chat, and from the other room came the sound of someone banging around the bucket of flatware.

Tony turned around to catch Bucky’s eye for a silent round of _you go; no, you go!_ Tony lost that round, because supervising Billie’s tape use was slightly less critical than making sure Nat didn’t fall off her ladder. Tony sighed and left the tape dispenser on the table, then slid to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

“So...” Tony said as the batwings swung shut behind him. “What’s the deal? You weren’t dumb enough to play cards with Luis again, were you?”

“Hope got promoted,” Scott said, not looking up. He was wrapping the flatware like he was on a stop-watch. It was often tempting to let him do it all the time, since he was nearly twice as fast as Bucky, who’d been doing it his whole life.

“O...kay?” Scott wasn’t the kind of macho dick who couldn’t deal with his girlfriend having a better job than him. Demonstrably, since she’d outclassed him on every front since their first meeting. “Promotions are usually good things.”

“She’s going to be a records analyst… for the FBI. In Silver Spring, Maryland.” Scott said. “I haven’t exactly had the best track record with long distance relationships, and have you seen the rent that far north? Oh, nevermind, you probably have. I can’t… I can’t manage that. Not even close to yet.”

“Oh.” That took the wind out of his sails, didn’t it? “That sucks.”

“I mean, it’s a great opportunity for her,” Scott continued morosely. “I mean, I know, I knew, man, she’s too good for me, an’ it’s not fair for her to get -- I mean, of course she has to go. It’ll be fine. Just, I don’t know. Wasn’t expecting it to be over so fast. Usually it’s over because I do something stupid, you know that, right? Just… feel like I lost Hope.” He chuckled weakly at his own bad joke.

“That joke was old already the first time you made it,” Tony said, because he always did. “You’re allowed to be upset,” he pointed out. “It sucks, no matter how you slice it, I get it. You want to stick to the kitchen tonight so you don’t have to put on a happy face for the floor, we’ll figure something out, okay? And, you know, maybe Hope is better than you at the long distance thing and you guys can work it out.” Tony grimaced; that was the stupidest thing he’d said all day.

“Yeah, we’ll figure something out,” Scott said. “Leastways the train comes all the way down to Norfolk, now, right?”

Whatever Tony was going to say about that was swallowed up when Bucky stuck his head in the kitchen. “Scott. Um… someone’s here to speak with you.”

Someone turned out to be Nick Fury. Unlike his normal state-trooper uniform he wore while on duty, or the sweatshirts and jeans he wore the rest of the time, this time he was in a tailored black suit with a long leather trenchcoat that flared out behind him like he was planning on starring in a modern spaghetti western.

Tony squinted at him. “You look like a spy or something, Nick.”

“Officer Fury,” Scott said. He was making an effort to look somewhat less depressed, probably didn’t want to show weakness in front of someone he still occasionally thought of as an enemy.

Nick flicked his coat out of the way, grabbed a small leather wallet from inside his jacket pocket and displayed it briefly. “That’s Agent Fury to you, now, son,” Nick said, very solemn and serious for a few moments, before flashing a brilliant grin. “Thanks in no small part, to you.”

“What, seriously? That’s fantastic!” Tony offered a hand for Fury to shake. “Glad to hear it wasn’t all for nothing.”

“Yeah, great,” Scott said. “Promotions all around to those who deserve ‘em. Fantastic.” He… almost sounded sincere.

“Good job, Nick,” Bucky added. “Probably will be more exciting than shooting feral razorbacks, right?”

“Well, don’t know about that,” Nick said. “That was a pretty exciting day. Got to see Stark in his skivvies, after all.”

“Bound to make anyone’s top-ten list,” Tony agreed. “But you didn’t come by just to tell us you got the job.”

“No,” Nick said. “I came by to make an offer. The number of positions that the FBI needs to fill have only gotten bigger since 9/11. There are thousands of job openings. Problem is the job requirements, which include passing a poly, and a clear criminal record. Keeps a lot of positions unfilled, given that we have one of the highest incarceration rates in the world.”

“Good thing I wasn’t applying for a job as a spook,” Bucky said in a low voice, meant to carry anyway.

Nick loftily ignored that contribution. “Based on my experience and time in job, I’ve been asked to help set up and run a special department, based on stopping high end theft and the embezzlement of monies through the internet and other computer securities issues. I’m putting together a team of people that I think can be of some assistance.” He glanced at Scott. “Including your girlfriend, who is a brilliant analyst and will be an asset to my team.”

“Yeah, I heard that bit of news today already, thank you,” Scott said.

“Now, now, don’t go thinking of endings, unless you’re particularly stuck on the idea of being a home-repair and maintenance tech. Your computer skills are off the charts.”

“And… in case anybody forgot this fact, I do, indeed, have a criminal record. I feel compelled to point out that I’m already disqualified for the job,” Scott said.

Tony thought Scott’s point had been delivered very calmly. Personally, he’d have punched Fury in the dick for that stupid tease.

Nick held up one finger. “Thing is, while they might not be ready to loosen up the official requirements, special teams are allowed to have full time consultants, if a suitable agent can’t be found to fill the role. And after considerable effort on my part, I have to confess, a suitable agent was not found that meets my needs. So… the application process is a bitch, but I can pretty much guarantee that your resume will get to the hiring manager’s desk. That would be me, in case I was being too subtle for you.”

“What?” Scott’s mouth fell open and he looked around as if for confirmation that he wasn’t having a hallucination.

Okay, Tony was going to maybe have to take back the dickpunch thought. “Was that ‘considerable effort’ on your part a lazy flip through the pile of intern resumes over at the business college?” Tony asked. He mock-scowled at Scott. “You’re going to just up and quit on us, aren’t you? Leave us short-handed.” That was a lie; they hadn’t actually needed Scott on staff since September.

Nick pulled out a file folder from his coat -- jesus, how much storage space did that thing have, anyway? -- and handed it to Scott. “I took the initiative of printing out the paperwork for you already. I’ll come by in a few days to pick it up. Assuming, you know, that you want the job.”

Bucky moved over and put an arm around Scott’s shoulders. “It was always the plan, Monty, for you to move on. Something better, big dreams.”

“Me? A spook?”

“ _Consulting_ spook,” Nick said. “You wouldn’t be an agent. You won’t be in the field. You’ll have a nice safe mobile office to work out of when we’re not in Silver Spring, and a desk when we’re home. No badge, no gun. But you can help make the world a better, safer place.”  

“Glad he’s not asking me to join his little boy band with a motivational speech like that,” Bucky muttered to Tony.

Tony wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist. “Yeah, I’m okay with the job I’ve already got.”

Scott snatched the folder, thumbing through it. “Yeah, yeah, of course I…” He stopped dead, eyes fixed on a certain spot. “Are you even kidding me?”

“That’s the standard pay for a consultant with your experience and skillset,” Nick said, anticipating the issue. “But there’s bonuses for --”

“I’m making nine dollars an hour right now,” Scott pointed out. “I think I can live on this.”

“Well, you haven’t seen the rents in--”

“Yes, yes I have,” Scott said. “No, really, this is great, Nick, like, really, really great. I can… I am totally onboard with this plan, yes, sir, I am. It’ll be great to work with you, like full time and --”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Nick said. “So, shut up now.”

“Right, shutting up before it gets weird,” Scott said.

“Oh, babycakes, it’s _been_ weird,” said Tony.

Fury shook Scott’s hand again, and headed out, his coat billowing behind him.

Under his breath, Bucky hummed the theme from _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_. “You think he’s got little wind machines under his coat?”

It was the way the coat was cut -- textiles weren’t Tony’s specialty, but it wasn’t hard to work out the airflow equations. But he liked Bucky’s suggestion more. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Congratulations, Scott,” Nat said, finishing the lights and climbing down. “You will do well, I think.”

Scott looked a little dumbfounded. “I’ve spent my whole life sticking it to the man,” he said. “If I take this job, I’m gonna be the man. I don’t think I can be the man, Celly.”

Tony snorted. “I’ve met your girlfriend, Scott. Trust me, _you’re_ not the man.”

“Oh, my god, I need to talk to Hope!” Scott exclaimed. “Thanks for the night off, Boss, see you tomorrow.” And Scott bolted for the front door.

Bucky held up one hand and started counting down.

When he reached one, Scott opened the door rather sheepishly. “Forgot my coat. Need my keys,” he said. He got his stuff, kissed Bucky on the cheek enthusiastically, and was out the door again. A few moments later, his stupid van horn went off. _La cucaracha, la cucaracha, ya no puede caminar._

Tony looked at the bucket of flatware. “Well, at least he got most of the rolling done.”

“So,” Bucky said, “we can all take a deep breath and _not_ think about Scott Lang working for the FBI, right?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for this story! But stay tuned!
> 
> A couple of months ago, someone asked us what would have happened if Bucky had lost Dockside, and we wrote an entire alternate-timeline novel in response. That novel, _Stem the Tide_ , will be posted in its entirety on Tuesday in lieu of our usual Sandbridge post. If you're interested, make sure you're subscribed to one of us and not just the Sandbridge series, because it will _not_ be posted as part of the Sandbridge series directly.
> 
> Thursday, we'll start the next Sandbridge story! _Mother of Tides_ will be posting on Tuesdays and Thursdays only, because...
> 
> ...starting next Sunday, we'll be posting our space pirate series, _The Enhancile War_ on Sundays!
> 
> Yeah, we're not running out of things for you to read anytime soon! Make sure you're subscribed to us here or on tumblr ([27dragons](https://27dragons.tumblr.com) and [tisfan](https://tisfan.tumblr.com))!


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